


Until You

by AlwaysRain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Attempted Murder, Bartender Dean, Betrayal, Families of Choice, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mobster Castiel, Murder, Musician Castiel, Runaway Castiel, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:29:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysRain/pseuds/AlwaysRain
Summary: November, 1927. Prohibition has not stopped Harvelle's Roadhouse from selling alcohol. Dean is happy with his makeshift family until a blue-eyed runaway blows into their midst. September, 2008. The abandoned bar calls to Dean and leads him to a lifetime passed. Funny how history repeats itself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Big Bang! It was so much fun, I can't wait to do it again. I hope you guys enjoy- this story is my baby, I spent so many months hammering out the details. A massive thank you to my friend Jaime (tennisxiu.tumblr.com) for proof-reading it for me and getting typos that I missed.  
> The artwork is done by the AMAZING Mack Robles (impalartscociopath.tumblr.com) and it's so so so gorgeous. I literally am in love with his artwork, and I can't thank him enough for choosing my story to work on! <3333

Looking up at the old wooden beams, Dean feels his fears melt away. He isn’t sure how he got here- the memory of driving through the night simply isn’t in his mind. The building in front of him is derelict. It seems like a good part of the roof is missing. The wood looks half rotten, and Dean knows it can’t possibly be safe to enter, but the very center of his being longs to go in. He’s felt so lost for so long, with no explanation why, and of all the things that could have made him feel better, it’s this old abandoned bar that calls to him. The feeling started in November, four years ago, and nagged at him ever since, always lurking in the back of his mind. Here, he feels at peace. He squints to read what appears to be a broken old sign. RV L E’ OAD U E. The letters make no sense without the ones that are already missing- broken off or faded away- and yet, the moment Dean places a hand on the old wood, he knows what they mean. This place is like a distant recollection, a fairy tale he heard long ago. Once upon a time, he thinks absently.  
  
Once upon a time, there was a man and a bar.  
  
  
\--------------------------  
  
  
“Oh, we ain’t got a barrel of money- maybe we’re ragged and funny; but we’ll travel along, singing a song, side by side,” Dean croons as the jukebox pumps out a happy tune from the corner. He spins in a circle and dips the broom like it’s a dancing partner. He grins and winks at Jo, who rolls her eyes and continues drying the glassware.  
  
“Get back to work, Romeo,” Ellen calls from across the bar, “I want that floor clean for the morning.”  
  
Dean turns to face her, still dancing as he resumes his sweeping. “Aw, c’mon, Ellen, you know Ukulele Ike is nifty! It’s past closing time, ma’am, which means it’s time to dance!”  
  
He misses the look that Ellen and Jo exchange, and then Ellen sighs heavily. “Alright, but if I have to dance, so does everyone else.” She sets down her rag and draws in a deep breath before shouting. “BOYS!”  
  
Dean holds back a laugh as Benny, Victor, and Ash come crashing in from the back room. Their expressions capture their personalities perfectly; Benny is concerned, Victor ready to fight, and Ash… well, Ash always seems just a bit drunk. When they see Ellen waving them over towards where Dean is sweeping, Benny and Victor seem to relax. Ash rolls his eyes and is about to disappear back where they came from when Jo grabs his arm and forces him into a dance. The jukebox sings out jazz while the six of them dance. Halloween has always been a busy day at the bar, but after closing time when it nears midnight and they’ve cleaned up after the rowdiest patrons, dancing and laughter is the best way to relax.  
  
Dean knows that it’s nearly November 1st now, knows that by this time tomorrow he’ll have to shut the world away. He knows he’ll spend another year mourning his mother, and that Ellen will insist he not go home alone. He knows he’ll ignore her. He knows he’ll probably wake up November 3rd with a killer headache and an empty bottle of illegal liquor- not that the prohibition has ever stopped Ellen from selling- but right now, he just wants to enjoy the company of the people who’ve become his family.  
  
The song ends and Dean releases Ellen’s hand so he can bow to her. She laughs breathlessly and swats his arm. “You’ll be the death of me, boy. I don’t know how I’ve managed to run this place through all your antics.”  
  
Dean winks and hands her the broom he’s left propped against a table. “My antics keep you from being caught for your bootleg, ma’am. Though it might help that we buy from MacLeod.”  
  
Just as Ellen opens her mouth to scold Dean for mentioning the operation, there’s an insistent pounding on the door. It opens as Jo reaches for the shotgun hidden behind the bar. A blast of chilly air blows in with a man who isn’t dressed for the weather. His hair is windswept, his cheeks are rosy, and his blue eyes are as cold as the night outside. The entire building falls silent, all eyes on the stranger in their midst. His button-up looks like it’s been ripped and one suspender is nearly hanging off his shoulder. He wears neither a vest nor a suit jacket. His gaze settles on Dean.  
  
“Are you Harvelle? Of… of Harvelle’s Roadhouse?”  
  
Dean shakes his head slowly and motions toward Ellen, who steps forward.  
  
“I’m Harvelle. The Roadhouse is closed.”  
  
The man steps forward, away from the door that bangs shut as he releases it. “I apologize, ma’am. I am aware it is late, but the lights were on.”  
  
Dean notices Jo holding the shotgun tightly while Victor and Ash quietly hide liquor bottles and Benny moves closer to Ellen. He switches his gaze back to the stranger and subtly squares his shoulders. “She said we’re closed. It’s best you move on.”  
  
The man’s eyes widen. He raises his hands as if to prove he isn’t dangerous. Dean tries to ignore how stiff and red they are from the cold.  
  
“Please,” he says. His voice, deep and rumbly, has a hint of fear in it. “I need a place to stay. Just for tonight.”  
  
“You stay, you pay,” Ellen says. Her arms are crossed. “This ain’t a hotel and I don’t like strangers, but it’s cold outside and I don’t believe in turning away desperate people.”  
  
“I… I do not have much money, ma’am. I can work.”  
  
He looks hopeful. Ellen purses her lips, studying the man for a good minute before replying.  
  
“What can you do?”  
  
“I can clean.”  
  
“We all clean together. What else? Can you cook? Wait tables?”  
  
“Not well, ma’am, but I’ll try. Or… I can sing. I can play the piano and the violin; I’ll work as an entertainer.”  
  
Ellen looks at Dean. He shakes his head ever so slightly, but she shrugs. He frowns and lowers his voice to a whisper, shooting the man a sidelong glance.  
  
“Ellen, I don’t trust him. It’s late, the Roadhouse is closed, and he still comes in? Without a coat or money? We’re at the edge of town, there’s no reason for him to head this way.”  
  
“I ain’t gonna let him freeze to death, Dean, and you shouldn’t be considering it either.”  
  
“We don’t even know his name. If he sleeps in the bar, he’ll find the liquor. Are you really going to let him in the house with you and Jo? Ash isn’t a fighter, he can’t protect you from this guy. Benny doesn’t have anything with him for an emergency stay, and Victor’s leaving to visit his brother once we finish cleaning, remember?”  
  
Ellen sets her jaw. Dean knows that look all too well. “Don’t assume the worst, young man. I might not trust him, but I won’t put him in danger, and I won’t immediately assume he’s a bad person. I’m going to help.”  
  
Dean holds back frustration. “Fine. But he isn’t staying here with you.”  
  
The woman turns her attention to the stranger who is still standing awkwardly across the room. “What’s your name, son?”  
  
“Castiel An-” he stops short, shuffles his feet, and drops his gaze uncomfortably. “My name is Castiel Novak, ma’am, and if you help me, I will do what I can to repay you.”  
  
Ellen makes a satisfied noise and nods once. “Good. You can stay with Dean tonight and borrow a coat from Ash. I expect you to come in to work with Dean in the morning so you can help get ready for opening.”  
  
Dean barely hears Castiel thank Ellen. He’s still trying to process what’s just happened. Ellen can’t possibly have saddled him with the task of babysitting this stranger. He scowls when he spots Jo giggling. She’s returned the shotgun to its place, so she obviously trusts her mother’s judgement. Ellen presses the broom back into Dean’s hands.  
  
“You can go home when my floor is clean. I’ll be in the kitchen.”  
  
The moment Ellen leaves the room, everyone decides they’ve worked hard enough for today. They file out of the main room, leaving Dean alone with Castiel, who looks like he’s about to offer to help.  
  
“Don’t,” Dean says before the man can speak, “I’m almost done. Just wait where you are and put on Ash’s coat.”  
  
Castiel nods solemnly. Dean sighs to himself and resumes the action of sweeping the floor. This time, the jukebox sits silently and Dean does not dance. After a few minutes, he props the broom against the wall behind the bar and grabs his coat. As he shrugs it on, he glances at Castiel, who has actually put on Ash’s coat. It looks wrong on him. Dean pushes the thought from his mind and escorts the stranger out of the Roadhouse.  
  
They walk in silence for a few minutes, shoes crunching on gravel and breath clouding in the moonlight. Frost paints the dead grass white, and Dean thinks to himself how the snow should come soon. He notices that Castiel looks uneasy as they walk along the unpaved road in the direction of town.  
  
“What, are you scared of the monsters in the woods or something?”  
  
The question is meant to be a joke, but Castiel stiffens as if it’s offended him. He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his borrowed coat and hunches his shoulders. His expression is a mix of uneasiness and anger.  
  
“Or something,” he grumbles, watching his feet instead of the direction he’s walking. “You should be, too.”  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make me want to let you stay with me, you know.”  
  
“My apologies.”  
  
Silence falls between the two men once again, just as uncomfortable as the last one. Dean starts to open his mouth again, but Castiel cuts him off.  
  
“Is it much further?”  
  
The outer buildings of town begin to rise up around them. Dean turns left on the first side street they come to. “No. Just a couple minutes longer. It takes about twenty minutes to walk to work every day.”  
  
“How did you end up working there?”  
  
“Went to school with Ash. He’s related to the Harvelles. Got me the job so I could stay in the area. I’ve been working there since I was eighteen.”  
  
“How old are you?”  
  
“Twenty-four.”  
  
Castiel is silent for another few minutes. He almost doesn’t follow Dean up the steps to a small townhome when Dean turns. Dean unlocks the door and they both hurry inside- the temperature outside is dropping rapidly. Dean locks the door behind them and pulls off his coat, mumbling something about needing a hat. Castiel removes his coat more slowly, noting how the house smells faintly of tobacco.  
  
“Do you smoke?”  
  
“Hmm? Oh, no. No, my dad used to.”  
  
“Used to?”  
  
Dean ignores the question at first, hand resting on the coat rack. Castiel seams to realize the implications of Dean’s words and immediately begins stammering out an apology. Dean waves a hand dismissively.  
  
"It’s fine, I said it. He was real sick toward the end and he gave me a box of his favorite cigars. Sometimes I burn a little bit of one so it smells like he used to. It’s comforting or whatever, I guess.”  
  
Castiel makes a small noise of understanding and follows Dean into the sitting room. The clock on the mantle reads 12:49. Dean stifles a yawn. He motions toward the kitchen vaguely before waving his hand at a closed door across the room.  
  
“I’ll make coffee around eight or nine, after I get up. Bathroom’s over there, and there’s the couch. I’ll grab you a pillow and blanket, hang on.”  
  
He disappears through another door. Castiel figures it probably leads to the bedroom. He walks over to the mantle, watching the second hand on the clock tick around in a circle. Apart from the clock and a few pictures, the room is bare. Castiel had immediately deemed Dean as a sap, and he’d been expecting more decorations. Apparently he had been wrong. The clock itself is quite beautiful, though, it makes an excellent centerpiece on the mantle.  
  
Dean emerges from his room carrying a pillow and two small blankets. He’s removed the top layer of his outfit and stands in his undershirt and slacks, his feet bare on the wooden floor. He extends the bundles of cloth to Castiel, who takes them gently. Dean turns back toward his room.  
  
“Wait!” Castiel clears his throat awkwardly when Dean looks at him again. “I uh… Do you mind if I smoke? I don’t… I don’t do it often. I suppose you could relate it to burning your father’s cigars. It is… comforting… in-” he swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. Dean finds his tired eyes drawn to it. “In stressful times, it is comforting.”  
  
Dean shrugs. “You don’t have to tell me everything about you. I don’t care if you smoke. Just don’t run off in the middle of the night, alright? Ellen already thinks you’re a bunny, and she’s gonna blame me if you show up in the papers froze to death.”  
  
Castiel offers a wry smile. “If I left tonight, I don’t think it’d be the cold that would kill me.”  
  
He places the blankets on the end of the couch and walks over to the window so he can crack it open. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Dean lets out a low whistle.  
  
“Okay, I take it back, you gotta level with me. You ain’t got enough dough to pay Ellen, but you got half a nice suit and you can afford Turkish Gold? I don’t follow.”  
  
Castiel looks at the small box in his hands and seems to flush. He quickly removes a cigarette and stashes the box back in his pocket. “It’s complicated.”  
  
“Are you on the lam? Is that why you’ve got to hide out here?”  
  
Castiel chuckles weakly. “I’m not a criminal. It’s just… family business.” He looks out the window, twirling the unlit cigarette in his fingers uneasily. “I’m afraid someone might take me on a ride,” he says, almost whispering. His blue eyes are empty enough that they reflect the moonlight like glass.  
  
Dean’s resolve crumbles. He had wanted to antagonize this stranger until he paid Ellen back and left, but the apathetic expression paired with the frightened statement breaks him. Dean sighs and snatches something off the mantle. He crosses the room to hold it out to Castiel.  
  
“Here’s the matches. Smoke as much as you want. Just… try and get some sleep tonight. I’ll get you some new duds in the morning so whatever asshole in your family is out to get you won’t recognize you. I’ll uh… I’ll be in my room if you need me.”  
  
Castiel nods solemnly and takes the match box. Dean crosses the sitting room and pauses in his doorway to look back. Castiel’s frame is silhouetted against the window, smoke curling gently away from his lips. Dean ducks his head and closes the door behind him. He falls asleep thinking of Castiel.

  


When Dean exits his bedroom in the morning, he almost walks past Castiel before he remembers the man on his couch. He stops short, yawning as he studies the other man. Castiel looks disheveled- his hair is tousled and his clothing is heavily wrinkled. Apparently, he hadn’t thought to remove the expensive garments before he’d collapsed on the couch. Dean makes a mental note to grab an extra suit for the man before continuing his journey to the kitchen.  
  
He stocks the percolator with twice as much coffee and water than usual, thinking briefly about which of his clothes might fit Castiel. He shuffles back through the living room, ignoring the other man this time. He does have the tact to lock the bathroom door behind him, though. The water isn’t quite warm when Dean steps into the shower, but it feels nice to wash a day’s worth of grime from his skin. Shortly afterward, he leaves the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with a toothbrush between his teeth. He stops short in the doorway, locking eyes with a very confused Castiel.  
  
“…Hello, Dean.”  
  
“’Lo,” Dean manages to mumble around his toothbrush. His hand instinctively grabs at his towel, despite the fact that it is in no danger of falling. He misses the way Castiel’s eyes rake over his body.  
  
“You have a tattoo.”  
  
“Mmm… yah.” Speaking like this is difficult. Dean removes the toothbrush from his mouth, but his words are still slightly garbled. “John’s through there. Shower, too. Go ahead,” he manages to say, jerking his head to the bathroom behind him as he shuffles out of the way.  
  
Castiel nods once. “Thank you, Dean. I won’t be long.”  
  
The shorter man side-steps Dean’s coffee table and steps into the bathroom. Dean waits until the door is closed before he uses the kitchen sink to spit his toothpaste and rinse his mouth. He wipes his hands on the towel around his waist. It’s strange, he knows, to be so comfortable with someone in his house- he’s lived alone for nine years.  
  
When his mother had died, he was nearly sixteen, and his father was absent. The state had decided that Dean was old enough to take care of himself, but not his younger brother. At eleven years old, Sam was taken as a ward of the state, despite how hard Dean had fought for him. The orphanage allowed their father to visit Sam three times a year, but Dean couldn’t get past the gate. As much as Dean loved his father, he never quite forgave him for letting Sam be taken. John finally returned, five years after Sam was taken away. It was only four months later that he died. Dean begged the orphanage to let him see Sam the day it happened. He was told that Sam would be notified and allowed to attend the funeral. That, of course, did not happen. Dean had been angry, so angry. He had practically destroyed his house in a fit of rage before Ellen found him screaming at the pictures on the mantle. Two years later, on Sam’s eighteenth birthday, Ellen kept Dean from strangling the matron at the orphanage when she told him that Sam ‘had an opportunity to better his life’ and took it. As it all worked out, Mary Winchester’s funeral on November 5th, 1918, was the last time Dean laid eyes on his brother.  
  
The sound of the shower squeaking off draws Dean from his memories. Somewhere in the time he was lost in thought, he’d gotten himself dressed and is now holding a spare undershirt and a button-up that had gotten too small. He selects a pair of slacks that aren’t quite long enough, black socks, and his extra belt. On his way out of the room, he snags an old blue tie, just in case Castiel prefers to wear them. He is from a rich family, after all. Or at least, Dean assumes he is. Last night had been confusing.  
  
He knocks lightly on the bathroom door, listening as the shower curtain is drawn back. “Castiel? I’ve got clothes. Do you want me to-”  
  
The door cracks open ever so slightly. “I’ll take them,” Castiel says, not looking Dean in the eye. The door opens just enough that he can stick his hands out to grab the clothing.  
  
Dean thinks he sees a bruise on the man’s shoulder before the door is snapped shut again.  
  
“I’ll… I guess I’ll start breakfast, then,” Dean responds, not even sure if Castiel is listening. “Is there anything specific you want?”  
  
“I will be fine, Dean. Cook what you would like to eat.”  
  
The voice is muffled through the door. Dean shrugs and moves to the kitchen. Each interaction he has with Castiel leaves him a little more perplexed. The man seems strong-willed and stubborn, but he goes along with everything Dean says. He acts like he wants to know everything about Dean, but he doesn’t push the subject and he refuses to speak about himself in return. Dean doesn’t trust him, not by a mile, but he can’t help but want to know Castiel.  
  
Dean is just portioning scrambled eggs onto two plates, with a small pile of seasoned potatoes and a piece of bread to accompany both, when he hears the bathroom door open. He grabs two mugs from the sparse cupboards and fills them with the steaming coffee that he’d set on the stove before his shower. He adds three spoons of sugar and a splash of milk to one mug, then turns to face Castiel.  
  
“How do you take your coffee?”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
Dean isn’t sure if he should be more surprised by Castiel’s answer or his outfit. The suit Dean had assembled seems lacking without a jacket, but he wasn’t able to find one he thought would fit. The slacks are loose, but the belt holds them up well. The only thing that really feels off is the old blue tie, which hangs backwards around Castiel’s neck. The man’s outfit last night, mussed as it was, had made him seem put together even when he was afraid. Now, with the backwards tie, tousled hair, and tired blue eyes, he looks like a frazzled shopkeeper. Dean decides to concentrate on the coffee.  
  
“What do you mean ‘you don’t’?”  
  
“I have never drank coffee before.”  
  
“But I made extra.”  
  
“I will drink it.”  
  
Castiel strides through the kitchen to take the steaming mug from Dean’s hands and sip at the aromatic liquid. Dean starts to warn him that the coffee is going to be hot, and very bitter, but Castiel doesn’t flinch. Dean stares unabashedly.  
  
“It’s… Don’t you want anything in that? I can make it taste better.”  
  
Castiel shrugs. “It tastes fine to me. Strange, though. I am used to drinking tea, which has a much lighter flavor. Which plate is mine?”  
  
Dean wordlessly hands him one of the two identical plates before picking up the other, as well as his own coffee mug, and joins Castiel at the small table. He notices that Castiel has impeccable table manners. The pair eat quietly until the clock on Dean’s mantle chimes. Castiel looks over to it, perhaps realizing how small the house is once again. Dean shovels the last of his eggs into his mouth and downs his coffee. As he stands, he shoots Castiel a pointed look.  
  
“You might want to finish that coffee. It’s time to leave. We’ve got a twenty minute walk and Ellen’s gonna expect us back at the Roadhouse by 9:30. I gotta stop up the road a bit to grab her newspaper, too. And Ash wanted a pack of smokes.”  
  
“Alright,” Castiel replies, and finishes the bitter liquid in his mug as he places his dirty dishes in the sink. “I… I do not have a coat.”  
  
He realizes this while rinsing his cup, and looks to Dean with worried blue eyes. Of course he doesn’t have a coat- he won’t be able to keep Ash’s forever. Dean furrows his brow and disappears into the small hallway. He returns after a few moments holding a tan trench coat and extends it to Castiel, who accepts it warily.  
  
“Jo got it for me a few years back. Said I could wear it on special occasions. I never had the heart to tell her I hated it. Plus it’s too small and I don’t go to ‘special occasions’. So… that should be warm enough, anyway. You can keep it.”  
  
“Thank you, Dean. I will treat it well.”  
  
Dean gives him a sidelong glance as he shrugs on his own coat. “It’s just a coat, not really the bee’s knees.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t react to the expression. Dean sighs and grabs his arm to drag him from the kitchen. Facing the door, he doesn’t notice the way Castiel winces at the contact. After the house has been locked up, they walk up the street until they reach the main road, where Dean turns left towards town and Castiel turns right towards the Roadhouse. Dean grabs his arm again, intending to steer him in the right direction, but Castiel lets out a hiss of pain and jerks backwards. Dean stops and stares openly.  
  
“Did that hurt you?”  
  
“… No.”  
  
“Yes it did!”  
  
“No, no, I am fine. You just… surprised me.”  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re lying. When we get to the Roadhouse, Ellen’s looking at that arm whether you like it or not.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes widen frightfully. “No, it’s just a bruise! I promise. Don’t bring Ellen into this. She’s a kind woman, she’s helping me. I need her to help me. She can’t know.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“She’ll ask questions, and I’ll have to answer.”  
  
Dean watches him with a blank expression. “You know I don’t trust you, right? Keeping secrets really isn’t helping you out.”  
  
“I am not going to tell you my life story just because you think I should, Dean. I am sorry if that offends you, but you don’t need to know about me or how I got that bruise. If you tell Ellen, I promise that I am going to drag you down with me. You don’t have to trust me, you just have to respect my choices. If I say that something is not of import, it is not of import.”  
  
Dean lets out a low whistle. “Easy there, tiger.” He shakes his head. “You’re strange. You confuse me more every time you open your mouth. Which means I get another guess- if you’re not running from the police, you’re a big shot who has to hide out. You get in a mob’s way or something?”  
  
Castiel gives a wry smile. “Or something,” he says, just as he had last night.  
  
“Okay…. You said family business, right? And then that someone might try to kill you.” Dean studies Castiel as they walk into town, still trying to make sense of his situation. “Did some asshole in your family hire a hitman?”  
  
“No. At least, not that I know of.”  
  
“But you’re still trying to run away?”  
  
“I’d rather not discuss this in broad daylight, Dean.”  
  
Dean sighs. “If I let you stop talking now, you’re never going to tell me, and I’ll never be able to trust you with my family.”  
  
Castiel stops in front of the general store and frowns at Dean. “I don’t understand why I need you to trust me. You’re just one man, what could you ever do to help my situation?”  
  
Indignation flashes across the taller man’s face. “You know, I really don’t like you, either. I let you stay in my house, and you tell me that I’m not helping? Wow. What a thank you.”  
  
Before Castiel can respond, Dean turns away. The door of the general store slams behind him. Castiel huffs angrily, so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice the black car coming down the road. It’s the sound of the engine that makes Castiel turn around- loud and even, not sputtering like most motor vehicles. It’s new, still shiny and attention-seeking, and Castiel panics. He backs away from the edge of the sidewalk, trying to press himself into the shadows against the building. Dean grunts in surprise as Castiel runs into him in the doorway.  
  
Disgruntled as he is, Dean immediately picks up on the whiteness of Castiel’s face. “What? You look like you saw a ghost.”  
  
“Close enough,” Castiel mutters, and begins dragging Dean with him down the street towards the edge of town.  
  
“Hey, hey, slow down! Why are we running?”  
  
Castiel doesn’t answer until they’re outside of town, nearly halfway to the Roadhouse. He looks more like a frightened runaway now than he had the night before. He glances behind them several times before he finally pulls Dean off the road and stops.  
  
“Will you believe me if I tell you that I will explain everything when the time is right?”  
  
“…Why?”  
  
“Please answer the question, Dean.”  
  
“I swear, Castiel, if you’re lying to me-”  
  
“I don’t want to tell you the truth, but I am not going to lie to you. I wouldn’t do that.”  
  
Dean narrows his eyes. Castiel’s expression is earnest, and as much as Dean doesn’t want to, he nods.  
  
“One condition,” he says, never once looking away from Castiel, “I get to ask you whatever I want.” Fear flickers in Castiel’s eyes, but he agrees. “Alright. Let’s get to work before Ellen starts threatening to skin us, then.”  
  
Dean hasn’t made it five steps before he hears Castiel speak again, his voice quiet.  
  
“Thank you, Dean. For allowing me to wait. I apologize for my temper. I tend not to interact with common people, and my social skills are somewhat subpar.”  
  
Dean snorts. “Your social skills would be better if you didn’t talk like a damn professor all the time.” He looks back over his shoulder to find Castiel staring at him with a confused expression. “Yeah, that’s how people feel when you talk. Now hurry up, you’re wasting time.”  
  
By the time the two men reach the Roadhouse, their ears are pink from the cold and the frost has begun to melt under the weak, warm light of the sun. There are distant grey clouds, which Dean surveys with distaste, wondering if it will snow in the night. The front door opens before Dean and Castiel can even step onto the low porch.  
  
Jo ushers both of them inside. Her hair is already falling out of its bun in gentle waves, and she looks almost as tired as Castiel. She closes the door only after she scans the road in front of the Roadhouse, then turns to Dean with wide eyes.  
  
“MacLeod stopped by this morning,” she says.  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow as he pulls off his coat. “There wasn’t a delivery scheduled for today.”  
  
Jo shakes her head. Castiel doesn’t seem to be paying attention, but she shoots him a furtive glance. Her frown is full of concern. She purses her lips, then sighs. “You’ll have to talk with Mom to get all the details, but… we’re getting a surprise delivery tomorrow. A big one, and he’s going to draw attention to it- he wants to have a party. Here.”  
  
“Here?”  
  
Dean’s shocked voice makes Castiel turn his head. He’s been staring at the far wall with a distant expression, but now he seems curious. Jo nods once, and Dean swears. He runs a hand over his face, swears again, and goes thundering towards the kitchen. Castiel follows more slowly, unsure who he should be reporting to.  
  
“Ellen! Ellen, what the hell is going on?”  
  
“Don’t you cuss at me, boy,” the woman says, but there’s no venom in her voice. She’s hunched over the sink with a towel slung over her shoulder. “MacLeod has told me he’s hosting a party here whether I like it or not.”  
  
Castiel is surprised by how angry Dean sounds when he replies. “He can’t do that, Ellen, he can’t force you to do whatever the fuck he wants.”  
  
“Yes, he can. He’s making a delivery special for the party, and we get to keep the leftovers free of charge. It’ll put us through the next month, easy, even with the holidays coming up. It’s a good deal, and we’d be stupid to refuse, even with the attention we’ll be getting. If we do refuse, he’s threatening to turn us in.”  
  
“So what? The sheriff comes here all the time.”  
  
“I know that!”  
  
Ellen snaps the response and turns around to look at the two men. Dean is halfway across the kitchen, Castiel hovers in the doorway. Ellen’s expression changes to one of mild surprise as her gaze falls on Castiel. Thinking she’s judging his outfit, he flushes, but she hardly spares a glance at the too-large shirt and backwards tie.  
  
“You came back?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am. You took a chance and offered your kindness to me. I refuse to go back on my word and leave that favor unpaid.”  
  
“I appreciate that. Castiel, was it?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Tell me one thing. Do you plan on staying with us, or will you keep running?”  
  
Dean watches as Castiel shuffles his feet uncomfortably, then draws in a deep breath. He holds it for a moment before speaking, his blue eyes flicking towards Dean before focusing on Ellen.  
  
“I… I do not want to overstay my welcome, but I do not want to leave after tonight. I am unsure of where I am going… if you will have me, I would like to stay here and do what I can to help for a little longer.”  
  
“Can I trust you not to run your mouth?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Ellen exchanges a glance with Dean, who still looks apprehensive after spending his morning with Castiel. She seems to decide that the stranger’s word is good.  
  
“Alright. We’re going to need your help tomorrow.”  
  
“For… for the party?”  
  
“It could get dangerous. Can you handle that?”  
  
“Y-yes, ma’am. If I may ask… why, exactly, will a party be dangerous? Who is MacLeod and why does he have such an influence on this restaurant?”  
  
Ellen purses her lips and frowns. Dean absentmindedly thinks how much Jo looks like her mother; this expression is the same on both of the women.  
  
“His name is Fergus MacLeod. He’s better known as Crowley.”  
  
Understanding crosses Castiel’s curious face. “King of the Crossroads.”  
  
Dean whips around to stare at Castiel. “You know about the Hellhounds?”  
  
“Yes. I’ve been following the reports on them for several years now. Knowing about the Hellhounds and their whereabouts is an important part of staying alive. Of course, I didn’t know Crowley’s real name.”  
  
Dean narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to accuse Castiel of not telling him something, but Ellen cuts in.  
  
“If you’re trying to stay alive, then we’re not the only ones MacLeod has influence over. If you haven’t guessed it already, this is a speakeasy. MacLeod personally supplies us with our bootleg liquor. If this party doesn’t meet his standards, he’s threatening to turn us in. Of course, the sheriff is a regular customer here, but even he can’t ignore an official accusation. He’ll have to do a search, and we’ll be out of business.”  
  
“So… why does he want to have a party?”  
  
“Well, the Hellhounds only control about half the city. It’s not exactly a geographic divide, either. From what I’ve heard, the Hellhounds supply some businesses, and their rivals supply all the others. Of course, their only competition is the Reapers.”  
  
Castiel stiffens, but has no other visible reaction. “I know about the Reapers.”  
  
“Then you’ll know why MacLeod is so ecstatic; there’s a rumor that the youngest Angeles brother has gone missing.”  
  
For how easily Castiel had accepted the news of the Roadhouse selling illegal liquor, he reacts quite impressively to the mention of the Angeles family. Dean watches as the color leaves Castiel’s face. He clenches and unclenches his jaw several times and avoids Dean’s eye. His hands are curled into fists so that they don’t visibly shake.  
  
“So,” Castiel says, his voice slow so that it doesn’t tremble, “What does he want? How can we make this party work?”  
  
“MacLeod left a list of demands. Top priority? Dean, sober.”  
  
Dean turns toward Ellen so fast that his neck cracks. He stares at her with an expression that is half shocked, half murderous while he rubs the back of his neck. “What?!”  
  
Ellen’s grey eyes are hard. She doesn’t look at Dean while she speaks. “He asked for you specifically, Dean. He didn’t require you to be sober, of course, but I do. I’m sorry. MacLeod wants you working the bar, and I’m going to need you at your best tomorrow. That means no free whiskey tonight, no sneaking drinks tomorrow, and anything that you try to drink at home, Castiel is going to pour down the drain.”  
  
Castiel starts, his brow creasing in protest. Dean looks enraged, but he doesn’t spare a glance at Castiel. “Ellen, if that fat asshole thinks-”  
  
One sharp look from Ellen shuts him up. Dean’s face settles into a sort of angry grimace. When Ellen continues speaking in a softer tone, Castiel can’t help but be curious and listen closer.  
  
“I know it hurts, baby, but it’s been nine years. Alcohol isn’t helping and you know it. You need to be stronger this year. For the Roadhouse. For Victor and Benny and Ash and Castiel. For Jo. For me. For yourself, Dean.” She pauses to reach out a hand towards him, then seems to think better of it. “I’m going to have Benny in the kitchen. Ash will handle any unsavory messes and break up the fights. Jo is going to wait tables with me. Castiel, you said you could work entertainment, right? Could you provide some live music?”  
  
“Of course, Ellen. Anything to help.”  
  
Still fuming, Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel. The moment Ellen finishes explaining and dismisses them, he drags the shorter man out of the kitchen and into a dimly lit hallway Castiel has never seen. Scowling, he wrenches his arm out of Dean’s grasp. Distantly, he registers a throbbing pain where his bruise has been squeezed. He ignores it in favor of glaring at Dean.  
  
“What the hell was that?”  
  
“Why are you so afraid of MacLeod if you didn’t know who he was ten minutes ago?”  
  
“Why aren’t you allowed to get drunk tomorrow?”  
  
Castiel’s blue eyes flash dangerously as he counters Dean’s question. They glare at each other for a long moment, neither wanting to break first. Above them, a lightbulb buzzes quietly. The wooden floor of the bar creaks behind the door that had slammed after Dean pulled Castiel through it.  
  
“You told me I could ask whatever I wanted,” Dean growls.  
  
“I never said I would answer.”  
  
“Why are you running?”  
  
“What are you hiding?”  
  
“Who are you escaping from?”  
  
“I said I would tell you everything when the time is right.”  
  
“I want to know now.”  
  
“Then you will be severely disappointed!” Castiel snaps his reply, looking almost as frustrated as Dean feels. A harsh, heavy silence falls between them. They stand only inches apart in the dark hallway, both trying to guess what the other is thinking. Castiel can’t find any answers in Dean’s green eyes. Dean can’t read the stone in Castiel’s blue ones. Finally, Dean breaks. He sighs and shrugs, slapping his hands against his sides as he lets them fall.  
  
“Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours.”  
  
Castiel narrows his eyes and says, “Fine.”  
  
“Is Castiel your real name?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is Novak?”  
  
“No. Not entirely. It’s my mother’s maiden name.”  
  
“What’s your real la-”  
  
“My turn,” Castiel interrupts, “Why were you going to get drunk tonight?”  
  
“Because I hate tomorrow.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“It’s November 2nd.”  
  
“What happened on November second?”  
  
“My mother died.”  
  
Some of the fight in Castiel’s eyes immediately dies away. Dean can see the pity setting in, the inevitable apology coming, and he doesn’t want to hear it. He cuts in just as Castiel opens his mouth.  
  
“Why are you afraid of MacLeod?”  
  
“I’m not afraid of Crowley. I’m not afraid of his Hellhounds.”  
  
“Then why did you say that knowing about them is part of staying alive?”  
  
“It is. I don’t need to fear someone to fear the people they hate.”  
  
Dean watches Castiel fidget. “You’re afraid of the Reapers?”  
  
“No. Not the Reapers. Only the men they take orders from.”  
  
Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, not wanting to watch the comprehension dawn on Dean’s face as he puts all the pieces together.  
  
“Are you that Angeles kid?”  
  
“I am not a child, Dean. I am- … I want to be free. Unfortunately, that might mean death.”  
  
“Is Crowley going to recognize you if we put you on the stage? Will he blow your cover?”  
  
“Crowley? No. My brothers never let me deal with him or any of his favorite Hellhounds. My name and picture has never been released to the press.”  
  
“How many brothers do you have?”  
  
“Three. And a sister. They are the face of the family operations, I am a secret weapon.”  
  
“Are your brothers the ones that gave you those bruises?”  
  
“Not all of them. But they let it happen. Gabriel was very upset with Michael and Lucian afterwards. I was not as hurt then as I am now, but I made some bad choices and Lucian added to my bruising.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I fought with Anna. When Gabriel tried to calm me down, I regret to say that I lost my temper and I hurt him. Lucian was unhappy with me. Michael was unhappy as well, but he was not willing to let Lucian hurt me. I, of course, didn’t think before I acted. I threatened Michael on my way out the door and I ran until I could run no longer. Now, I am here.”  
  
Dean allows the silence that follows to fall. Castiel doesn’t make eye contact. Dean wants to be angry, but all his frustration is melting away. Eventually, he nods.  
  
“Right. Well, we’re both gonna have to get through these next two days. So let’s do this together and on Thursday we can tell Ellen that we’re taking the day off. We will need to be back for the weekend if we want to live, though.”  
  
Castiel raises his gaze hopefully from the floorboards. “You will let me stay, then? This… doesn’t mean you trust me, does it?”  
  
“No,” Dean says flatly, “it means that you sleep on my couch, and you drink my coffee, and you help out at the Roadhouse, and on Thursday we buy you new clothes. I can’t stand looking at you like this, and if I’m going to keep you alive, I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”  
  
“Thank you, Dean.”  
  
“Don’t do that.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Thank me. This isn’t a gesture of kindness. It’s not like I live in a palace. I have a dingy house that’s barely larger than an apartment.”  
  
“Yes, well, it’s certainly more welcoming than the place I come from. So thank you.”  
  
Dean regards Castiel with mild curiosity. “Castiel Angeles, huh? What a mouthful. Novak isn’t much better.”  
  
The ghost of a smile graces Castiel’s lips. “Actually, it’s Castiel James Bartholomew Angeles. After my grandfather.”  
  
“Hey, at least your namesake is a man. Imagine being named for your grandma Deanna. My brother got the good name.”  
  
“You have a brother?”  
  
Dean doesn’t answer for a long moment. He takes a step away from Castiel so he can lean against the wall. “I guess so. I dunno. I haven’t seen him since my mom’s funeral. He was a nerdy little kid, you’d like him. Everyone liked him.”  
  
“What was his name?”  
  
“Sam. His name was Sam.”  
  
“Why haven’t you seen him?”  
  
Dean ignores the question. Slowly, Castiel reaches out a hand and lays it gently on Dean’s forearm. All the tension of their incensed conversation has dissipated, leaving Dean to stare at the ceiling so he can ignore Castiel’s newfound concern.  
  
“Did he-”  
  
“No. He’s just not around, okay? It’s not important. I have family here, now, and if you make it through tomorrow, you might have them as well.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dust motes float gently in the air where light streams through the boarded, broken windows. Dean pauses just inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. His gaze is drawn to the stage at the far end of the room, directly opposite the bar. Torn, musty curtains hang haphazardly where they are pulled to the sides. Dean skirts the edge of the room, his eyes locked on the faded drapes and the microphone stand that lays snapped in half not far from the stage. Dean climbs onto the wooden platform, wincing as it creaks ominously under his weight. His footsteps echo through the abandoned building, drowning out the sounds of birds outside. So much dust has settled on the grand piano that Dean can’t even wipe a small area clean when he runs his hand along the keys. He looks across to the bar and feels something deep within him awaken, the ghost of a memory begin to surface.  
  
Once upon a time, there were two men and a bar.

  


\--------------------------

  


“When whippoorwills call, and evening is nigh, I hurry to my Blue Heaven…”  
  
Castiel’s voice drifts through the Roadhouse, a gentle tenor accompanied by twinkling piano. As Castiel makes his way through the song, Dean stands at the bar wiping out glasses with a towel. The lights that Victor and Benny installed above the stage wash Castiel in pale yellow and shine off his black hair like a halo. A small smile graces his lips while he sings. He’s a jumpy, easily startled man, but he always seems to calm and be at peace when he sits at the piano and works his magic. Though all his suits are new, he still wears the trench coat and old blue tie that Dean gave him in November. Tonight, the tie is once again tied backwards and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows to combat the heat of the stage lights. Castiel’s fingers come to rest on the ivory keys. A slight sheen of sweat glistens on his brow. Dean slings the towel over his shoulder and steps out from behind the bar.  
  
“Hey Mozart, can we go home now or are you going to continue showing off to our nonexistent patrons?”  
  
Jo rolls her eyes from where she’s sweeping. “Ignore him, Castiel, he’s just cranky because it’s past his bedtime.”  
  
“Damn right I am,” Dean laughs, “I’ve been dealing with you lot for hours, I deserve a nice sleep.”  
  
Castiel’s smile is small but genuine as he climbs down from the stage and accepts the towel Dean holds out to him. “Alright, alright, let’s go.”  
  
“Oh my god, what a pushover,” Jo groans. She levels Castiel with a half-hearted glare. “You’re supposed to fight him, Castiel. He thinks he’s swell and we need to train him out of it.”  
  
Dean gives an award-winning smile, forcing himself to look away as Castiel wipes his face with the towel. “Awwww, Jo, I had no idea you felt that way about me.”  
  
Jo gags. Castiel laughs. Dean’s gut lurches slightly. Four months ago, Castiel never would have dared to let himself relax this much. Now that Ellen has practically adopted Castiel, Dean finds himself in Castiel’s company nearly everywhere he goes. And sometimes, his heart will skip a beat, or his palms will get sweaty, or his stomach will knot. Each time it happens, he pushes it to the back of his mind and chooses to focus on the fact that Castiel has no apparent regard for personal space.  
  
“Anyway, Mom said to tell you not to forget your share of this month’s hooch. And not to drink it all in one go.”  
  
This time, it’s Dean that rolls his eyes. “Give Cas more credit than that. He never lets me drink more than one glass.”  
  
“Yes, well, drinking excessive amounts of alcohol is unhealthy,” Castiel says with a twinkle in his eye. He lays the towel on the table beside him. “Besides, you still insist that you don’t trust me. All I do is prevent you from intoxicating yourself and telling me all of your secrets.”  
  
Jo snorts in a very unladylike fashion. “Dean? Secrets? Yeah, right. That man can’t keep secrets to save his life.”  
  
“Hey! What about that time that you and Ash-”  
  
“Noooo! No, no, no, no. This is what I mean, Winchester, you always spill a secret to prove you can keep them!”  
  
Castiel pretends to cough to cover up his laugh and hides a small smile behind his hand. It’s a sight he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, the way people at the Roadhouse interact. They’re a family bound together not by blood, but by hardship and fierce affection. Dean and Jo are warm and playful with each other- even as they begin arguing, there is no malice in either of their voices. Neither of them have the capacity for the cold discipline Castiel was raised with. Rules here are enforced with the promise of a reward instead of the threat of a punishment.  
  
Ellen enters the room just as Dean puts Jo in a headlock so he can ruffle her hair easier. Ellen sighs when she sees them and shakes her head, pulling up a chair beside Castiel.  
  
“A bit of advice, Castiel, never try to separate those two. Never give them attention, either. They’re both awful children.”  
  
“Dean is twenty-five.”  
  
“And yet you watch as he wrestles with my twenty year old daughter over… what are they fighting about this time?”  
  
“Secret keeping, I believe. They may have changed topics. I lost track of what they were saying right about the time Jo started punching him.”  
  
Ellen chuckles and turns away from where Jo is now attempting to knock Dean’s feet out from under him. She fixes her grey eyes on Castiel and brushes auburn hair from her face.  
  
“What about you, sweetheart? How are you doin’ here?”  
  
“I am… I am fine. I know I’ve overstayed.”  
  
“Actually,” Ellen starts, but is interrupted by Jo suddenly shrieking.  
  
“Mom! Mooom! He’s not playing fair, he’s tickling me!”  
  
“You’ve known him half your life, Joanna, you know his weak spots,” Ellen calls, not bothering to look over her shoulder. “Anyway, what I was saying. You always mention overstaying your welcome, and I… well, I was actually wondering if you’d like to come on staff full-time.”  
  
Castiel’s smile freezes in place, then begins to melt. “What?”  
  
Ellen nods. “No more of this day-by-day favor to repay stuff. You’ve been here for four months. There’s no favors left, Castiel, you’re the best entertainer we’ve had. I want to officially hire you.”  
  
“I appreciate the offer, but I-”  
  
“No buts. You can’t keep working for free.”  
  
“I… I was working for a place to sleep and a meal.”  
  
Ellen sighs. She stands and gestures for Castiel to do the same. “Walk with me.”  
  
As they pass, Dean and Jo stop scuffling for a short moment, both looking out of breath and confused. “Ellen? Cas? Hey, I thought we were going home!”  
  
“Never you mind,” Ellen waves her hand at them, “keep fighting about… whatever it is you’re fighting about.”  
  
She doesn’t speak again until they’re out the back door of the Roadhouse and into the connected house. Ellen leads Castiel upstairs to a room he’s never seen before. She points to the pictures on the wall.  
  
“Tell me what you see.”  
  
Castiel watches her uncertainly. He steps forward with a sigh and his eyes fall on an old, faded photo. It’s one of four that are framed instead of taped up on the walls.  
  
“I see you. With a man and a child.”  
  
“That’s Jo and her father.”  
  
In the next photo is Ellen, Jo- a little older now- holding hands with the man, Ash, and Victor.  
  
“The day we opened the Roadhouse. Jo had just started school and brought Ash home almost immediately. Bill and I took him out of the orphanage with the money we got from the Roadhouse. Victor was a volunteer. He wanted to make money to help his family out.”  
  
Jo’s father is missing from the next photo. A gruffer-looking man with a beard appears, along with a pale slip of a young man.  
  
“That’s Bobby. His wife died in the same hospital as my husband did during the influenza epidemic. Garth, his nephew, barely made it out alive. Jo made friends with Garth, so we visited him quite often during his recovery. Bobby was grateful. They didn’t have family around. So they both started working here. After a few years, they both moved to the country. It wasn’t quite a year before they left when Ash brought Dean home from school and asked me to give him a job.”  
  
The last framed photograph is the six people Castiel knows. Ellen and Jo sit in the middle, surrounded by the four men. Jo looks like she’s about fourteen, strangely small next to her mother and the men. Dean is beside Ash, one hand resting on Ellen’s shoulder. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Victor has one arm around ash and the other around Benny, who has no beard.  
  
Ellen comes to stand beside Castiel. Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “I used to love this picture, but looking at it now upsets me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Dean. He’s so much happier now. He’s not quite nineteen in this photo. He was still broken, then. He had so many negative experiences with blood family that he was slow to accept us as people who chose him. He thought he was alone. That he didn’t have anyone who cared about him.” Ellen turns her grey gaze to Castiel. “He was wrong, you know. So are you.”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“We both know that Dean isn’t letting you sleep on his couch just so you can pay some debt working here.”  
  
Castiel frowns. “Dean has made a deal with me. He wants me to work here. That does not mean he wants me to stay.”  
  
“Yes, but he makes you breakfast every morning, right?”  
  
“He cooks for himself also.”  
  
“He walks with you to and from work.”  
  
“He complains every day.”  
  
“He shares his liquor with you and calls you Cas. When did that start?”  
  
Castiel blinks. “The nickname was after Crowley’s party in November. I suppose the liquor was close to Christmas, perhaps.”  
  
“He buys you cigarettes instead of making you go to the store yourself, and he remembers the correct brand, right?”  
  
“I suppose. Dean has been doing that for months, though, since January.”  
  
“How often does he smoke with you?”  
  
The question startles Castiel. He had assumed no one knew about Dean stealing cigarettes from Castiel’s fingers with a smile on his lips. That had started in January as well, on the night of Dean’s birthday. They had left the Roadhouse much later than usual. Halfway home, when Castiel caught Dean staring, Dean plucked the cigarette from between Castiel’s lips and began smoking with him. Now, Ellen smiles knowingly and lays a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.  
  
“Dean is a son to me, Castiel. I know him like the back of my hand. That boy will complain about anything and everything, he’ll be more stubborn than anyone you’ll ever know, and he’ll swear up and down he doesn’t trust anyone… but he remembers everything. Once he decides he knows who you are and how to judge you, he’ll never forget. He’ll latch on. He never gives up on family.  
  
“Dean has trusted you for several months, now. You’re part of his family. He picks at you because that’s how he shows affection. Why do you think he fights with everyone so often? He holds back on the physical aggression with you, and I feel I’m right in assuming that he’s looking out for you. Whether you don’t like fighting or fear it, I don’t know. But Dean is gentle with you. He cares more than you know. We all do.  
  
“I may not know as much about you as I do Dean, but you, too, are my son. I’ve liked you since the moment I met you. I knew when Dean relaxed with you that you were family. So don’t you ever think you’re alone. You have six people who care for you very much. If you want to leave us, we won’t hold you back. But while you’re here, we’re going to treat you like you’re here forever. That means that from now on, you have three meals a day, you have four houses to choose from, you have a safe place, and you have a family. The only think you need to work for is money and a monthly share of liquor.”  
  
Ellen finishes her speech and watches Castiel expectantly. He swallows several times and nods stiffly.  
  
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”  
  
She smiles and rubs his shoulder. They walk back down to the Roadhouse in silence, where Jo is sitting on the edge of the stage and Dean is lying on the floor. Every time Jo swings her legs, Jo reaches up to smack her feet away from his face. Jo catches sight of them first. She waves cheerily and proceeds to kick Dean in the head as he sits up. Dean swears. Jo dissolves in a fit of giggles.  
  
“Where are the boys?”  
  
“Sleeping,” Dean says sullenly, rubbing the back of his head, “they finished in the kitchen and went home. Ash is on the desk in your office. Don’t think he meant to pass out there, but it’ll be funny tomorrow.”  
  
“Well, you can laugh about it while you figure out where Castiel is sleeping.”  
  
“What? Where’s he going?” Jo’s laughter stops abruptly, replaced with bewilderment. “Are you leaving?”  
  
“No, he’s not leaving. He’s been sleeping on a couch for four months, it’s about time we got him a bed. Obviously it’s too late for him to go home with Benny or Victor, but he can stay here if he wants. I won’t make Dean shove an extra bed in that house if he doesn’t want to, but Castiel deserves a good place to sleep.”  
  
Dean remains silent while the women discuss this, his joking demeanor replaced with a blank expression. Castiel watches him sit there, staring at the floor, for several minutes. He begins counting the freckles on Dean’s cheeks. After forty-three, Dean raises his head and looks Castiel in the eye. Castiel feels himself freeze in place. He feels like they’ll both run if either of them move. He can’t blink. Dean’s green eyes are captivating. An eternity passes before Dean speaks. He doesn’t look away from Castiel.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Ellen. I’ll handle it. He’ll have a bed by the time we come back tomorrow.”  
  
Jo looks between the two men with a confused frown, but Ellen smiles and nods. “Alright. You two head home, then, before it gets too late. Your hooch is under the bar.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Dean stands to hug both women. The moment he breaks eye contact, Castiel lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Ellen kisses his cheek before she ushers Jo out of the Roadhouse. Dean pulls a box from under the bar while Castiel shrugs on his coat. Outside on the low porch, Dean locks the door and pulls on his own coat while Castiel places a cigarette between his lips and slips the box back into his pocket. Dean hands him a match box. Castiel pauses before he takes it, brushing Dean’s fingertips with his own.  
  
“… Thank you.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The two men stand shoulder to shoulder in the darkness until Castiel has lit his cigarette and handed the matches back to Dean. The tip of the cigarette glows red. They step away from the shadow of the Roadhouse into the pale moonlight. Snow floats down half-heartedly from the patchy clouds and dusts their shoulders. Castiel pulls his coat tighter around himself and exhales smoke in a thick fog. Frozen gravel crunches under their feet. Dean reaches over and plucks the cigarette from Castiel’s cold fingers, his lips twitches up in a smile as he takes a long drag. Castiel tries to snatch the cigarette back and nearly falls as he skids on a patch of ice. Smoke billows past them as Dean loses it in a fit of laughter.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Watch where you’re walking, Cas, that’s not the first time you’ve slipped.”  
  
“Yes, well, I could concentrate on walking if you would stop stealing my smokes and get your own.”  
  
Dean takes a drag and hands the cigarette back to Castiel. He blows out a stream of smoke, then shrugs. “This is more fun. You have snow in your hair.”  
  
Castiel scowls, but accepts the cigarette. He brushes a hand through his hair in an attempt to dislodge the snow, but it just melts and musses his black hair into small spikes. He sighs. Dean grins.  
  
“Hey, Cas?”  
  
“Yes, Dean?”  
  
“What was that song you were singing during prep this morning?”  
  
Castiel shoots Dean a sideways glance, drags on the cigarette, and shrugs. “I don’t know what you are referring to. I warm up my voice during preparation hours, you will need to be more specific about the song.”  
  
“You know the one I’m talking about.”  
  
Castiel sighs in defeat. “Yes.”  
  
“So what was it?”  
  
“… a lullaby. I suppose I learned it from my parents, though I hardly remember them. Anna used to sing it to me before Michael told her she was babying me too much. Michael is of the opinion that I am still a child who cannot handle myself. He thinks I need to grow up.”  
  
Dean makes a small noise of understanding and doesn’t mention the lullaby again. The cigarette doesn’t last much longer passed between the two of them. Castiel flicks the butt onto the ground as they enter town. It fizzles out in the wet remains of February’s snow. They pass a man in a puffy coat and a thick woolen hat just as they turn onto the side street that leads to Dean’s townhouse. If Dean thinks the sight is odd, he doesn’t comment on it. Castiel glances behind them every few steps until they are inside and Dean has closed the door. Dean hangs up his coat, kicks off his shoes, and heads down the short hallway in his socks.  
  
“Hey, Cas, Ellen gave us vodka! Looks like some brandy, too, do you want some of that?”  
  
“I’m fine, Dean,” he replies absentmindedly, removing his shoes with more care than Dean had.  
  
He begins walking to the couch, his thoughts still on the man outside, and is met with a glass of brandy. Dean stands beside the couch, holding it out expectantly, watching Castiel with bright green eyes.  
  
“What’s on your mind?”  
  
“N-nothing. Thank you.”  
  
Castiel gives Dean a well-meaning smile that is met with suspicion. Dean narrows his eyes and sips at his own brandy.  
  
“It’s Ellen, isn’t it? What did she drag you off for, anyway?”  
  
Dean takes a seat on the couch and pats the cushion beside him. Castiel sits only after he has drained about half his glass. He wants to look at Dean, wants to keep counting his freckles- which one was forty-three?- but he can’t take his eyes off the window. That man is out there. He has to be.  
  
“Oh, um… she showed me a wall of old photographs.”  
  
“The staff ones?”  
  
“She seems to think I am part of the family.”  
  
Dean can’t seem to decide if he wants to make a joke or not. Finally, he shrugs and nods. “I guess so. Yeah, you can be family if you want.”  
  
“I… I have a family, Dean. It is not one that you want to be a part of.”  
  
“But that’s why you’re with us, isn’t it? What’s so bad about having a new family?”  
  
“If I have a new family, they are in constant danger of my old one.”  
  
Dean sets his brandy on the coffee table with a sigh. “Cas, I told you I would keep you alive as long as you stayed at the Roadhouse. That’s all you need to worry about. Do you really think I wouldn’t keep them alive, too? None of us are afraid of your brothers.”  
  
“None of you know who my brothers are.”  
  
“I do, and I’m not afraid.”  
  
“Well, you should be! My brothers are far more powerful than you will ever be. You need to be afraid of what they can do. I am.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t look at Dean as he says this. Dean studies his tired face and tries to ignore the feeling welling up in his chest.  
  
“Well, the way I see it, you have two options. You can choose to trust me, stop being scared, and go to bed. Or you can choose to trust me, drink a lot, stop being scared, and go to bed drunk.”  
  
Castiel raises his solemn blue eyes to Dean’s energetic green ones. He swallows the lump forming in his throat and nods once.  
  
“Let’s drink.”  
  
Though he clearly was not expecting this answer, Dean’s eyes light up. He seems to view this as a challenge; he’s never been able to convince Castiel to have more than one drink. After six shots of vodka and two glasses of brandy, Dean announces that he’s had enough of the silence. He claps his hands together and flops more comfortably on the couch.  
  
“You’re no fun,” he says in a half-whine, “S’too quiet in here.”  
  
“You should be accustomed to silence, Dean. You do not own a jukebox, nor do you have a radio.”  
  
“I have my mom’s old phonograph somewhere. It’s a piece of junk, though, so you should just sing.”  
  
“I was under the impression you wanted be to drink. I cannot do both at the same time.”  
  
Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel. “Killjoy.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
This finally makes Castiel pull his gaze from the window across the room and focus on Dean, who sits up so he can lean in close to Castiel’s face. He speaks slowly, enunciating as much as he can after vodka shots and brandy. “You’re a killjoy. Castiel James Bartholomew Angeles is a killjoy.”  
  
Castiel feels his mouth go dry and his heart beat faster. He doesn’t know if it starts when Dean leans forward or when he says his name. He doesn’t know if it’s fear or something else. His fingers twitch as he refrains himself from reaching forward to grab ahold of Dean’s arm. He can’t look away from Dean’s eyes. They are green, bright and alive even at this late hour, flecked with gold and framed with long blonde lashes. Castiel’s breath sticks in his throat.  
  
“I was not raised for fun. I was raised for strategy.”  
  
A slow smile parts Dean’s lips. “I can fix that.”  
  
“You are drunk,” Castiel mutters.  
  
“Probably. But you… you aren’t even close. You’ve been drinking slowly enough that you can keep your head clear for just a while longer.” Castiel blinks, but no spell is broken. Dean is still mere inches from his face, still staring like he can see into Castiel’s soul, still speaking hardly louder than a whisper. “So what is it? What’s so worrying that you can’t let yourself relax?”  
  
Castiel’s mind jumps to the man outside, but the thought is somehow distant, blocked by a haze. Dean’s presence is fogging his perception; the warmth of a solid body close to his own, the sound of bated breath inches away, the smell of cologne and liquor and stolen cigarettes wafting around them. Castiel loses himself for a moment, unsure of how he’s going to answer. Finally, he resolves to tell Dean about the man outside, the reason he can’t calm down.  
  
“You,” he breathes.  
  
And freezes. His blue eyes widen. No. No, that wasn’t the answer. He didn’t mean to say that. His stomach wrenches itself into knots. His heartbeat stutters. His breath hitches. Dean blinks in surprise. An eternity passes. His eyes flick down to Castiel’s lips and back to his eyes. On the mantle, the clock chimes twice.  
  
“More brandy,” Dean announces.  
  
He sits back and snatches the bottle off the table so he can empty it into the two glasses. Dean hands one to Castiel and drains the other in a single swallow. Castiel holds his glass in silence after only managing to sip at his own brandy. Shame burns hot in his chest. Dean nudges his knee and nods at the glass.  
  
“Bottoms up. Come on, I want to go to bed.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Castiel’s voice is rough. He almost loses it halfway through the word. He knows he’s ruined it all, destroyed his chance at a real home only hours after it was offered to him. Except… Dean doesn’t seem to share this notion.  
  
“Ellen wants you to have a bed. So scoot. I’m taking couch tonight, you’ve got the bedroom.”  
  
“I do not wish to take your bed from you.”  
  
“I don’t wish to have Ellen take my head from me. So either you take the bed or we share it. I was gonna sleep out here cause I figured you’d be more comfortable alone.”  
  
Castiel looks dumbstruck. Dean rolls his eyes and plucks the brandy from Castiel’s hands. He drains the glass and sets it beside his own, then stands and walks to the bedroom door, where he pauses to wait for Castiel. After several seconds, Castiel tentatively joins him, breathing shallowly in hopes of avoiding Dean’s smell. Dean chatters the entire time they ready for bed, but Castiel hears none of it, too busy rebuking himself for revealing even a little of what he truly feels. Whatever moment had passed between them is gone, and now all Castiel can think of is his mistakes and how they have all lead him here. And now, with the man outside and the looming sense of danger, he knows he has to leave. He waits until Dean’s breathing evens out before he slides carefully out of bed and moves across the room.  
  
The wooden floor is cold beneath Castiel’s feet. He brushes aside the curtain at the window. Outside, a weak amount of fresh snow has made an attempt to cover the dirty slush on the road. Nothing moves in the moonlit street. Castiel lets the curtain fall back over the window. He looks to Dean, sprawled across half the bed, and sadness washes over him.  
  
_This will be fine_ , Castiel thinks. _I will be fine_.  
  
He eases himself out of the bedroom and down the hallway. The clock chimes thrice as he shrugs on his trench coat and shoes. He pauses at the door, hand outstretched for the handle. He knows it will lock behind him. He knows if he steps outside, he will not be able to return. He opens and closes it as quietly as he can.  
  
_This will be fine. I will be fine_.  
  
Castiel moves slowly down the stairs. He steps into the road, braces himself, and turns toward town. He doesn’t look back; if he looks back, he knows he won’t be able to continue walking. Something moves behind him. He closes his eyes, lets out a breath, and tells himself to calm down.  
  
_This will be fine. I will be fine_.  
  
“Is this where you’ve been the whole time? I didn’t believe Michael when he told me. It’s not like you to stick around, and this place is way too close to home.”  
  
Castiel’s frenzied heartbeat hardly slows, despite the relief he feels. “It was not my intention to stay.”  
  
“But you did. What made you do it?”  
  
“Why are you here, Gabriel?”  
  
The footsteps behind Castiel cease, so he stops and turns to face his brother. Gabriel’s hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his puffy coat. His cheeks are bright pink from the cold, but his ears are covered by long golden hair and a thick woolen cap. The hat isn’t blocking his face now, nor is he trying to hide, and Castiel can see that he is shivering and his nose is crooked.  
  
“Michael knows. He’s going to come after you.”  
  
Castiel swallows his regret. Gabriel’s nose had been perfect before Castiel broke it in November. “I knew he would eventually. I refuse to act like I fear him.”  
  
“How stupid are you, Cassie? You know Michael. You know what he can do.”  
  
“He can’t do anything to me that will make me afraid.”  
  
Gabriel’s expression is unreadable, but there is concern in his amber eyes. “I didn’t come to argue with you. I came to warn you.”  
  
“And how long were you waiting out here for me to pass you?” Castiel snaps the question, his blue eyes flashing.  
  
Gabriel shrugs. “Long enough. Why did you wait three hours to come back outside and meet me?”  
  
“I knew if I did, you would tell me something about Michael and try to make me come home. It will not work. I have a new home.”  
  
“What, here?” Gabriel gestures behind him to Dean’s small townhouse. “With that man?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are you sleeping with him?”  
  
The question catches Castiel off guard. He had forgotten just how much Gabriel knew about him, how perceptive his brother really was. Castiel shakes his head.  
  
“No. Gabriel, I sleep on the couch. He’s just giving me a place to stay. He has nothing to do with… my… lifestyle.”  
  
He wants to cringe as he says it. He knows there’s no way Dean is listening, but Castiel doesn’t want him to know. If Dean knew that Castiel was homosexual… he doesn’t want to think about it. He’s not sure if Dean would ever look at him the same way. He certainly wouldn’t offer to share his bed.  
  
Gabriel sighs. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to be living with another man? You can’t call this place your home, Cassie, you’ll get attached. This is only going to wind up hurting you when Michael comes.”  
  
“I already told you. I am not afraid of what he might do to me.”  
  
“And what about what he’ll do to the man you’re living with? You _know_ Michael. He’s going to assume the worst, he won’t settle for knowing that you’re stuck on this guy. He’s going to think you’re sleeping together and you know it. You know that if Michael finds out, this man is going to go down for you. Michael and Lucian will tear him apart.”  
  
Castiel lunges forward to grab Gabriel by his coat collar and slam him against the side of the nearest house. Castiel’s eyes are colder than the night, hardened by sudden fury. He forces his forearm against Gabriel’s throat and speaks in a growl.  
  
“If you so much as look at him _or_ his family, I will end you.”  
  
Gabriel makes no move to defend himself or fight back. He locks eyes with Castiel and speaks in a low voice, acting for all the world like he isn’t being choked or threatened. The only giveaway is the slight wheeze in his voice.  
  
“I want nothing to do with him. Michael doesn’t know who he is yet. I’m just saying that when he finds out, he and Lucian will not hesitate to come. Your man and his family are only in danger as long as you continue to live with him.”  
  
Some of the fight seems to leave Castiel’s eyes. He deliberates for a long moment and drops his hold on Gabriel. He steps away as his brother sucks in a breath of air and begins coughing. He massages his throat tenderly, but says nothing.  
  
“I cannot come home, Gabriel. I will not leave these people. They care for me.”  
  
“Is that your winning argument, Cassie? _I_ care for you. So does Anna and everyone else. Do we mean nothing?”  
  
“You are family. The people I have found have no obligation to care for me.”  
  
“Do they even know who you are?”  
  
Castiel’s eyes flicker towards Dean’s house. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, then shakes his head regretfully. “They know I am dangerous even if they do not my name. They know that, one day, people may come to kill me. They are not afraid.”  
  
“They don’t even know what to be afraid of! Cassie, _please_. I won’t beg you to come home, that’s not why I came here. I just don’t want you to put innocent people in danger of our brothers.”  
  
Castiel falls silent. Slush squishes under his feet as he shifts his weight uncomfortably. Gabriel coughs again and winces. Castiel can feel his fingers start to go numb- he’s still only wearing pajamas under his trench coat. After several minutes of silent deliberation and internal war, he sighs. His stomach churning, heart racing, he turns away from the house and sets his jaw.  
  
“Let’s go.”

  


Dean wakes to an empty bed and a quiet house. For a brief moment, he thinks nothing of it and stretches out, trying to savor the last few seconds of sleep. Then he realizes what silence means and bolts upright. His vision blurs for a second- a mild hangover paired with quick movements does not make a lovely couple. He presses the heel of his hand against his eyes and yawns.  
  
“Cas? Hey, I meant it when I said you could sleep in here,” he calls, and is met with silence.  
  
Dean frowns and swings himself out of bed, hissing when his bare feet touch the floor. He makes his way to the kitchen first, beings making coffee, and then starts towards the bathroom. Dean scrubs a hand across his face, casually glancing towards the front door as he scratches his morning stubble. He blinks, sure that he’s seeing things wrong. But no… the trench coat is definitely gone. Dean’s heart skips a beat. He feels like he’s been doused in ice water.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
Silence. The house is devoid of a young man with blue eyes and black hair. Dean tells himself to stay calm.  
  
“He went out to buy a pack of smokes,” he says to the clock on the mantle. Seconds tick by.  
  
Castiel has never left the house alone. He always waits for Dean to join him, even for a short trip to the general store. Dean turns and sees Castiel’s pack of Turkish Gold sitting on the coffee table beside their brandy glasses from last night. He clenches his teeth and tries to convince himself that he most certainly is not worried.  
  
But by the time Dean has showered, made too much coffee, cooked an extra plate, and dressed for work, Castiel has not returned. Dean slips the cigarettes into his pocket with a matchbox and sets off towards the Roadhouse. He stops no less than twelve times along the way to wait for Castiel. He never appears.  
  
“He went to work early,” Dean tells the trees along the road. They don’t answer.  
  
Benny is outside repainting the sign when Dean arrives. The taller man waves from the top of the ladder with a smile. “Mornin’, brother. Where’s the other one?”  
  
“Thought he was here.”  
  
Benny shrugs and dips his paintbrush into the can. “Maybe. I ain’t been here long. Ellen sent me out here right away, anyhow. He might be inside.”  
  
Dean nods. He sidesteps the ladder and heads inside. The main room is empty, so he heads into the kitchen. “Hey, Ellen?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Dean steps through the door to see her scrubbing counters while Jo folds and stacks towels.  
  
“Where’s Cas? He left his cigarettes at home.”  
  
“He’s not with you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, he isn’t here.”  
  
Dean swears violently. Jo looks over, impressed, but Ellen frowns. Jo folds another towel and glances between her mother and Dean.  
  
“So… Castiel is gone.” It’s not a question, but a statement. Dean feels his heart sink.  
  
“He wasn’t around when I got up this morning. I mean, he was fine last night… mostly. He wanted to drink with me.”  
  
Jo gasps in understanding. “Oh! No. Mom, you didn’t!”  
  
Ellen raises an eyebrow at her daughter. “Didn’t what?”  
  
“You gave him the family speech!”  
  
“And what if I did?”  
  
“Oh my god, Mom, you scared him off!”  
  
“I did no such thing, Joanna,” Ellen says calmly. “He’ll be back.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Dean asks. He’s staring at the floor, fighting hard to stay calm. “He’s not like the rest of us, Ellen, he has a lot to run from. What if this was just one thing too much?”  
  
“All of you boys had something to run from when I took you in, so I gave you something to run to. And you all ran away from it before you came back. Don’t you remember, Dean? It took a whole two weeks to get you back here after you ran.”  
  
“I was eighteen and scared, Ellen.”  
  
“Castiel is twenty and scared. How is that any different? Give him time, Dean, he’ll come back to us. I trust him and I know you do to. So exercise that trust and calm down.”  
  
Calming down would be easy if not for the anxiety bubbling under Dean’s skin. In the next few days, his emotions range from worry to anger to fear to betrayal and back to anger. The entire month of March passes with no word from Castiel. His box of Turkish Gold cigarettes takes up residence in Dean’s bedside table beside John’s cigars. The last remnants of snow melt away as April makes an appearance and buds begin to appear on the trees. In May, flowers start growing in front of the Roadhouse. On May 2nd, Jo drags Dean from his house and to the Roadhouse, complaining the entire way about the stink of alcohol. Ellen pries the whiskey bottle from his hands while Benny forces him to eat. Victor carries him to Ellen’s couch and Ash sits with him until he falls asleep, halfway through mumbling something about the difference between two months and ten years. Later that night, they catch him smoking Castiel’s cigarettes in the backyard. No one says anything. May turns to June and Dean stops daring to hope. Ellen still insists that Castiel will return, but Dean decides that he’ll never see the blue-eyed man again.  
  
Dean is repairing the front steps of the Roadhouse on the first of July when Jo comes outside. She eases the door shut behind her and walks over slowly, as if she might startle Dean by moving too quickly. He looks up as she approaches and wipes sweat from his brow.  
  
“Hey, Jo.”  
  
“Hey. U-um… I- I wanted to talk to you. About… about Castiel.”  
  
Jo looks timid, standing barefoot on the porch in a lightweight dress and her hair in a bun. Her hands are clenched around a rolled-up newspaper. Dean sets his hammer beside a bucket of nails and tugs off his leather work gloves.  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“W-well… do you remember the day he left, how you said he had more to run from than the rest of us?” She pauses nervously. Dean doesn’t respond, so she continues. “What did you mean by that, exactly?”  
  
“S’not my place to tell you, Jo. I had a deal with him. I’m not going to break that deal just because he’s gone.”  
  
Jo bites her lip and steps forward so she can sit on the edge of the porch. She gestures for Dean to sit beside her and waits until he does before she continues speaking in a soft voice.  
  
“His name wasn’t Novak, was it? You knew, though, and you didn’t tell us.”  
  
Dean stares down the road instead of at his friend. “Yeah. He made me promise. It was part of our deal. He was going to tell everyone when he was ready. Guess he didn’t get around to it before he took off.”  
  
“Was he with the Reapers?”  
  
“What makes you think that?”  
  
Jo unrolls the newspaper and hands it over to Dean with her brow furrowed. On the front page is a large photograph and a bold headline. It takes Dean a moment to register what he’s reading. He scans about half the article before looking to the picture. The article tells some story about four people who died in the midst of a fight between the Reapers and the Hellhounds. Dean doesn’t pay much attention to it, more interested in the black and white photograph. There are several people cowering in the background. A young man lays dead at the bottom of the picture, beside a woman who is bleeding profusely. A large man and a woman stand above them, one holding a knife and the other a pistol. Dean doesn’t understand why this is so important to Jo until she points to the far right corner of the photograph and he feels his heart stop.  
  
Though blurry, there is an unmistakable shock of black hair and a strong, stubbly jawline. Castiel is being shoved out of frame by a woman with long hair. Some part of Dean knows that this must be Anna. He swallows hard and looks to Jo for confirmation. She nods.  
  
“I read the whole article,” she says, “The mother and son that died were related to the Angeles family. And the Masters girl, they think that the fight started over the man she was with. And they think they know who he is. See, our Castiel is in that picture, but they seem to think he’s called Castiel Angeles.”  
  
“He is.”  
  
Jo takes the newspaper back and begins shredding it. “So he didn’t die in November, the Angeles boy. He came here.”  
  
“MacLeod was wrong. Cas gave us his mother’s maiden name to keep himself safe. Nobody knew his face or his real name until now.”  
  
“They think he was dating that Masters woman before she died.”  
  
“News to me. His business.”  
  
“He wasn’t dating her, I know it.”  
  
Dean can’t find it in himself to care about who Castiel was or was not sleeping with. Now that he knows Castiel is alive, all he can think about is finding him. But there’s nothing he can do at the moment, so he decides to humor Jo. “And how could you possibly know that?”  
  
“Well, I was curious. I did some experiments back in December, around Christmas and New Year’s. He wasn’t dating that woman before she died. He’s not dating any woman.”  
  
“How do you figure?”  
  
“He’s homosexual. It really wasn’t hard to figure out. Just like it wasn’t hard to figure out that you’re stuck on him.”  
  
Dean can feel himself flush and get defensive, no matter how hard he tries not to. “Jo, for the last time, I’m not-”  
  
“I know!” She tears a long strip off the newspaper and looks at him seriously. Suddenly, Dean is reminded of Ellen. “I get it, Dean. Maybe you aren’t, but he is. And either way, you like him. A lot. What’s so bad about that? He’s one person, that doesn’t have to change who you are. It just means that he’s the one exception. He’s your person.”  
  
“Hey, Jo?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Shut up. I’m not in love with Castiel.”  
  
“Mom agrees with me.”  
  
“You’ve talked about this?”  
  
Jo shrugs. She sets the shredded newspaper beside her and watches an ant crawl up her foot. Dean feels himself calm down in the silence, though he’s still quite put off, and the familiar ache sets in. Jo sighs.  
  
“I miss Castiel.”  
  
“Me too, Jo.”  
  
Dean wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss into her hair. They sit for a few minutes, watching the breeze rustle the leaves on the trees. Finally, Dean sighs.  
  
“You’re gonna make me tell Ellen everything I know about Cas, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yep.” Jo giggles. “She’s gonna skin you alive for lying to her.”  
  
“Cas lied, too!”  
  
“Yeah but he was scared.”  
  
“I’m scared. Can I use that excuse, too?”  
  
“Nope. Your life isn’t on the line.”  
  
“You sure about that?”  
  
Eventually, Jo shoves Dean away from her, complaining about the heat and saying he smells like sweaty man. Dean rolls his eyes and tells her to bug off so he can continue working on the steps. He stays outside most of the day, only taking breaks to help passing customers on and off the porch, as the steps are out of commission. He gets lost in his thoughts several times, unsure if he should be happy that Castiel is alive or pissed that he left without a goodbye. By sunset, the Roadhouse has closed for the night. Dean can hear Benny shouting inside, and then the jukebox turns on. He begins packing his tools back into their box, satisfied that the stairs are once again secure. He’s busy thinking about what Ellen will have prepared for dinner and doesn’t hear the crunching gravel until it stops behind him.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
He turns so fast he nearly trips, emotion flaring up in his chest. “Cas?”  
  
Dean can’t believe what he’s seeing. He stares openly, afraid that if he blinks, Castiel might disappear. The younger man is shaking, and he looks badly bruised. His lip is split, patches of blood have fallen on the collar of his crisp white shirt. The suit vest he wears over it is silk, a shade of dark blue that makes Castiel’s eyes stand out. They are wide and lost, and one of them has been blackened. His suit has seen better days. One of his shirt sleeves is half off, the other torn at the wrist. He’s missing a suspender, his slacks are torn, and the vest is missing several buttons. He’s clenching a small bag and his trench coat in his hands, which are shaking so badly that he drops it before too long, wavering on his feet.  
  
Before Dean can think, he finds himself stepping forward and pulling Castiel into a hug. Castiel freezes before allowing himself to be folded into Dean’s embrace. Dean can feel him trembling even now, so Dean holds him tighter.  
  
“Shh,” he murmurs. He tucks Castiel’s head against his neck. “Shh. I got you, Cas, I got you.”  
  
Against his better judgement, Dean presses a kiss into Castiel’s hair and begins rubbing circles on his back. Castie’s breath hitches. Dean’s fingers hit something warm and wet and Castiel yelps against his shoulder. Dean jerks back from Castiel, staring at the blood on his fingers, and realizes that he’s shaking not from fear, but from exhaustion and blood loss.  
  
“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit!”  
  
Castiel’s eyes are unfocusing. He’s wobbling on his feet. Dean curses himself for not noticing right away. Castiel smiles weakly at Dean, his lips struggling to form words. Before Dean can tell him not to speak, he collapses. Dean catches him before he hits the ground and feels panic flare up in his chest.  
  
“ELLEN! ELLEN!”  
  
There comes the thundering sound of five pairs of feet sprinting across the interior of the Roadhouse. Dean lifts Castiel carefully into his arms and turns towards the wooden building just as the front door slams open and all five people pour out. Castiel’s head lolls to the side. Jo screams.  
  
“Oh my god!”  
  
“Is that-”  
  
“What happened to-”  
  
“MOVE!” Dean bellows, rushing up the stairs he’s just repaired. He kicks over a bucket of nails on his way up. Ellen passes the shotgun to Victor, tells Jo to get Castiel’s bag, and runs after Dean. She’s barking orders to Ash and Benny, but Dean hears none of it. His ears are buzzing. All he can think of is Castiel dying in his arms.  
  
“Dean, lay him here, face down. Ash, get the scissors.”  
  
The moment Dean has placed Castiel on the couch, Ellen shoves him bodily away and takes the scissors from Ash. She begins cutting Castiel’s shirt away in pieces. Jo, looking frightened, blanches at the sight of the bruises covering Castiel’s back. She sets the coat and bag on the coffee table. Dean peers over Ellen’s shoulder as she tears away the last strip of cloth and reveals a deep stab wound above Castiel’s right hip. She hands the scissors back to Ash, nearly cutting Dean in the process.  
  
“Jo, get him out of here.”  
  
“I’m not leaving Cas, Ellen, I-”  
  
“Jo! Now!”  
  
Jo scurries over to Dean, taking his arm and tugging him forcefully away from the couch. Benny rushes in with clean rags and a bowl of steaming water. Jo drags Dean out of the house through the hallway and shoves him towards a chair in the Roadhouse.  
  
“Sit,” she commands, moving behind the bar to pour a small glass of bourbon.  
  
Dean sits numbly and doesn’t react to the liquor placed in front of him. His eyes remain locked on his bloody hands before Jo covers them with her own. Ash runs in, grabs a bottle of moonshine, and runs out again. Jo squeezes Dean’s hands.  
  
“Dean, look at me. Look at me.”  
  
“He’s dying, Jo.”  
  
“Castiel is not going to die. Mom was a nurse, she knows what she’s doing. Don’t you trust her?”  
  
“Not with him. He was my responsibility. I promised him I would keep him safe, and then I let him go.”  
  
“Dean. This is not your fault. There is nothing you could have done.”  
  
Dean raises his green eyes to Jo’s face. He looks haunted, almost as broken as Castiel. “I can’t lose him, Jo. I can’t. I just got him back.”  
  
She doesn’t reply. Slowly, she coaxes him to drink the bourbon and calm down. He keeps his eyes fixed on the hallway door. Nearly an hour passes before Benny strides into the Roadhouse. His hands are clean, but there are a few blood spots on his shirt. He doesn’t look at Dean or Jo as he passes, but disappears out the front door. A moment later, he reappears with Victor, who places the shotgun behind the bar. They move into the store room. Ash comes out of the hallway soon after and pulls Jo aside. They whisper together. Dean grows increasingly frustrated at the pitying looks they keep shooting him. Finally, Ash nods and sighs.  
  
“Ellen’s in the living room.”  
  
Dean doesn’t wait to ask if this is an invitation or not. He practically runs down the hallway and into the house. In the living room, he finds Ellen gently washing sweat and blood off of Castiel’s chest with a damp rag. Castiel is unconscious still, but someone has flipped him onto his back. Bandages are wrapped over a good part of his abdomen, covering a majority of the ugly bruises there. A pillow has been placed under his lower back. Dean looks to Ellen with wide eyes.  
  
“He’s sleeping,” she says, “He woke up when I sterilized the wound with moonshine, screaming like the devil. Then he started asking for you. Wouldn’t stop until I got the stitches done and Benny held him up so I could bandage him.”  
  
“What happened, Ellen?”  
  
“He was stabbed, obviously. Wouldn’t say who. Tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t do it. Convinced him to sleep after we got him comfortable in a way that won’t aggravate the wound. He nodded off pretty quickly. I suspect he’s had a stressful day.”  
  
Dean swallows hard. Castiel’s face is pale, and Dean suspects that it’s mostly from blood loss. Ellen follows his line of sight and sighs.  
  
“He’s going to live, Dean. You saved him by calling me right away. I’m proud of you, baby.”  
  
“I want to stay with him.”  
  
Ellen nods. She watches Dean for a moment, then squeezes his arm and leaves the room. Dean bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to lose control. He’s twenty-five now, damn it, he shouldn’t be on the verge of tears. Not over some man he’s only known for eight months.  
  
Dean sleeps on the floor that night, propped against the edge of the couch so he can monitor Castiel’s breathing. It’s well after midnight when he wakes to a hand weakly brushing against the top of his head. He turns to look behind him curiously.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
Even in the dark, he looks tired. Black stubble has grown in on his jaw, and his solemn blue eyes are shadowed by dark rings, one of them half shut and swollen. The smallest of smiles graces his lips, split and sore as they are. Dean clenches his jaw, closing his eyes for a moment when Castiel resumes stroking his hair.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I missed you,” Castiel says instead of answering. Dean doesn’t know if he should be mad or sad.  
  
“Where have you been? It’s been months.”  
  
“I went home.”  
  
“No. Bullshit. This is home, Cas, here. The roadhouse. You’re family.”  
  
“I told you, Dean. I have a family. I am not a part of this one.”  
  
“You can’t leave and expect us to stop caring. We’re stubborn.”  
  
“That is exactly why I left,” Castiel whispers sadly, “You are all far too stubborn for your own good. I had to keep my brothers away from you.”  
  
“You could have said goodbye.”  
  
“You would not have let me leave.”  
  
“I looked for you,” Dean admits quietly. His throat tightens. “Every night for two months.”  
  
“I know. Gabriel thought you might put yourself I danger when I left. I asked him to watch over you for me. He followed you until you gave up.”  
  
“I never gave up, Cas. I thought you died. You were so afraid of your brothers finding you, and then you just disappeared. What was I supposed to think? And, by the way, having your brother stalk me is a creepy-ass way to show concern.”  
  
Castiel huffs a laugh and winces in pain. “It was too dangerous to come myself, and I trust Gabriel the most. He isn’t like Michael or Lucian.”  
  
Dean turns back around- his neck his starting to hurt from watching Castiel. He stares at the far wall. Castiel is still combing his fingers through Dean’s hair. “What happened tonight?”  
  
“I tried to leave. You could say that Lucian was… less than happy, and it did not end well. There was rather a lot of fighting. Michael and Anna were out, but Gabriel tried to step in after the marble staircase got involved and I… fell. I was intent on leaving before I fought with Lucian, but after, I knew I had to come back here. I had to see you again before my brothers killed me. Gabriel is not afraid of Lucian, so after I was stabbed, he tackled Lucian. That was the last I saw of either of them before I took my things and ran.”  
  
“You ran the entire way to the Roadhouse with a stab wound in your back? Cas, what the hell? You should have gotten a hospital or something.”  
  
“Or something,” Castiel mumbles with a drowsy smile. “I was sure I would not live through the night. I thought it would be nice to return the coat to you and see your face before I died.”  
  
“Why were you leaving in the first place if you knew it was dangerous?”  
  
Castiel doesn’t answer for a long moment. His hand falls from Dean’s hair. He stares at the ceiling sadly. Dean shifts so he can turn and watch Castiel comfortably. Castiel sighs, and winces, dropping a hand to the bandages across his stomach. “My cousin Samandriel died. He was only seventeen, and… well, it was my fault.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I… I was pretending to court a woman named Megara. She was a Hellhound, but she kept it secret so she could spy for them. I knew who she was, but she did not know me. I thought if I made her believe we were close, she might tell me something valuable to use against the Hellhounds. She called me Clarence. Michael had assigned my aunt, Naomi, to watch me on my excursions with Megara. Occasionally, Naomi would bring along her son Samandriel so it would be harder to notice that she was following us. Samandriel made it seem like she was simply out for an afternoon with her son. Samandriel was the first to notice that a man named Ellsworth was also following us, presumably for Megara’s protection. She did discover my identity, and she tried to kill me. Samandriel saved my life. Naomi attacked Megara, Ellsworth attacked Naomi. All three of them died. Anna had been with Naomi and Samandriel moments before the attack, so she took me away from the fighting. And yet, my face and name have both appeared in the papers. Michael is not happy with me. Because of my mistakes, the press know who I am and my family is dead. I… I cannot stay in that place after what I did.”  
  
Dean reaches up to take Castiel’s hand in his own. He rubs his thumb against Castiel’s palm. “You didn’t know what was gonna happen, Cas. There’s no way you would have.”  
  
“I appreciate the thought, Dean, but you do not have to try and comfort me. This is life. Where I come from, you die if you make a mistake.”  
  
“You almost died and you’re more concerned about the rest of your family. Someone needs to look out for you. God knows you aren’t doing it.”  
  
Castiel seems like he’s going to laugh, but the small smile falls from his face. His blue eyes are sad. He squeezes Dean’s hand. “I regret leaving you every day.”  
  
“Cas, I… I was so pissed that you left. And after a while, I was sure you had died. But you’re here now, and you’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.”  
  
Castiel turns his head away and swallows hard. The lump forming in his throat does not move. “I’m sorry, Dean. I am so sorry.”  
  
Dean bites the inside of his cheek, then moves so he is closer to Castiel, even if he isn’t quite as comfortable against the couch. He leans forward to brush Castiel’s hair back and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. A tear slips down Castiel’s cheek and he begins to tremble. Against his better judgement, Dean allows himself to give in to temptation. He holds Castiel’s hand tightly in his own. His free hands falls from Castiel’s hair to caress his cheek. Dean’s lips brush against Castiel’s split, swollen ones, and Castiel dissolves into quiet sobs. Dean runs his thumb across Castiel’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his tears as he lays his head on Castiel’s chest.  
  
“Get some sleep, Cas. I’m not going anywhere.”


	3. Chapter 3

The air inside the abandoned building is cool and stale. Dean sits down on the edge of the stage, looking across the room to the bar. Several tables are smashed, others upturned or thrown on their sides. The once-white tablecloths are covered in dust that has accumulated through the years. Some are stained an odd brown color like they were bled on. Dean draws a deep breath and sighs. The longer he stays in this place, the calmer he feels. The four-year ache is fading, replaced with an eerie stillness of the mind. Dean pushes himself off the stage and the wooden flooring creaks beneath his feet. There are several bottles smashed close to the bar, as well as an old shotgun that looks like it was thrown violently on the floor and stomped on. To his right, a large swinging door hangs off its hinges, revealing an empty kitchen. The birds have stopped singing outside. Dean turns toward the front door at the sound of footsteps just as the door eases open to reveal a young man with black hair and striking blue eyes. Dean stumbles back as a rush of emotion floods his mind. It’s like he’s just been struck with a brick wall and had his memory thrown back in time. The man in the doorway drops the papers he’s holding. He looks just as winded and startled as Dean feels. Dean places a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering. He raises his eyes to the man in the doorway and his breath leaves him.  
  
Once upon a time, there was a bar.

  


\--------------------------

  


“Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, smiles await you when you rise…”  
  
Castiel sings quietly enough that only Dean can hear him. His back is resting against a large oak tree. Dean is sprawled in the grass with his head in Castiel’s lap as fingers run through his hair. Castiel sings while counting the freckles on Dean’s cheeks, not noticing the fondness in Dean’s green eyes as he watches Castiel’s face. A gentle breeze flutters through the leaves on the oak tree and the sun beats down hot even through the shade. Dean closes his eyes and smiles sleepily, beginning to hum along with Castiel’s lullaby.  
  
Once Castiel returned, July passed in a blur of summertime parties and gentle kisses. Dean and Castiel’s relationship blossomed slowly in Ellen’s living room, in quiet moments they shared during Castiel’s recovery. Ellen would not allow Castiel to leave the room for nearly a week, and it took Castiel an entire month to convince her that he could perform live in the Roadhouse. His back healed well under Ellen’s dutiful care. She insists that the scar could have been far worse, but Dean still feels a surge of hatred toward Lucian each time he sees the shiny pink skin above Castiel’s hip.  
  
Castiel leans down to kiss Dean’s forehead before pulling a box of cigarettes from his pocket. He doesn’t even have to look before taking the matchbox from Dean’s hands. They have grown into an easy routine. Life revolves around each other. They stay with Ellen several times a week, as it is safer than risking the townhouse, where Castiel’s family might find them. Castiel drags on the cigarette while staring at the back of the Roadhouse with a small smile. Dean waits until he has blown out the smoke in a stream before reaching up and lazily snatching the cigarette. Castiel sighs.  
  
“If you’re going to wait until I’ve held the cigarette between my lips every time you steal it, you may as well kiss me.”  
  
Dean surveys him through squinted eyes, sunlight dappling his face. He smiles around the cigarette, blowing smoke towards Castiel’s face. Castiel grimaces and takes the cigarette back as Dean chuckles.  
  
“You know, Cas, if you want to kiss me that badly, you may as well just do it.”  
  
Castiel scoffs, but he’s smiling. He leans down as Dean leans up. They meet halfway, their lips interlocking as Dean’s hand tangles into Castiel’s hair.  
  
“Gross,” Jo yells across the yard, “Why do I have to watch you two neck on each other every time you’re left alone?”  
  
Smiling against Castiel’s lips, Dean flips Jo the bird. He bites gently on Castiel’s lower lip. Jo crosses the backyard barefoot, pretending to gag until the two men separate. Dean rolls his eyes at her.  
  
“Benny made dinner. We’re all ready to eat.”  
  
Dean groans and struggles to his feet before extending a hand and helping Castiel up. They lace their fingers together. Jo slips her arm through Castiel’s so that he is trapped between her and Dean.  
  
“You’re gonna love it, Castiel,” she says happily. Her blonde hair is tied back with a ribbon, but a few loose strands flutter in the breeze. “There’s some people here for you to meet.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Don’t worry, you’ll like them.”  
  
Castiel looks to Dean, who shrugs. “All I know is that Victor asked Benny to make gumbo for dinner and Ellen closed the Roadhouse for the day. Same stuff she told you this morning. I didn’t know we would have visitors.”  
  
Jo gives them a self-satisfied smile and releases Castiel with a kiss on the cheek. She winks at Dean before flouncing away ahead of them. Dean exchanges a glance with Castiel. He rubs his thumb against the back of Castiel’s hand. They enter Ellen’s house through the back door to find the living room empty. Hand-in-hand, they move down the hallway and into the Roadhouse.  
  
Several tables have been pushed together to accommodate everyone. Victor stands off to the side, chatting amiably with visiting members of his family. Jo is bouncing on the balls of her feet beside a man wearing an old baseball cap. Dean’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. He drops Castiel’s hand and strides forward, looking dumbstruck.  
  
“Bobby?”  
  
The man turns around. He has a greying beard and youthful eyes, and he breaks into a smile the moment he sees Dean. Castiel hovers in the background, suddenly feeling very unwelcome. These are all people that have appeared in Ellen’s photographs. He doesn’t want to intrude. Bobby pulls Dean into a bone-crushing hug. Castiel watches anxiously until someone appears beside him. In one fluid move, the skinny man bounds forward and attempts to hug Castiel, who reacts instinctively and punches him in the gut. The Roadhouse falls silent at the sound of the thud that results from the man falling to the floor with a pained wheeze. Castiel freezes in place.  
  
“… Did he just punch Garth?”  
  
“Yes, Bobby, he did,” Ellen sighs. She walks over to Garth and pulls him up by his arm. “Up you go, Garth. No more surprise hugs, alright? I warned you.”  
  
Garth nods weakly and extends a shaky hand toward Castiel. “So you’re Castiel, huh? Don’t worry, this is my fault. I was warned not to overwhelm you. Didn’t realize who you were, though.”  
  
Castiel looks to Dean, who is very obviously trying not to laugh. “Uh… yes. I apologize.”  
  
Garth smiles and shakes Castiel’s hand eagerly. “No problem! It’s great to meet you, really. Sorry about the whole hug thing. I forget sometimes that people don’t always like being touched. You pack one hell of a punch, though, where’d you learn that?”  
  
Castiel looks incredibly uncomfortable, so Dean comes to wrap an arm around his shoulders with an easy smile. “Cas, Garth is a hugger. He won’t hurt you. Let him do his thing. Garth, Cas is a fighter. He will hurt you. Don’t startle him.”  
  
Bobby snorts from a few feet away. “So which one of you boys is going to tell me who he is? Ellen won’t tell me a damned thing.”  
  
“Bobby, that’s not really-”  
  
“It’s fine, Dean.” Castiel presses himself closer to Dean’s side, but levels Bobby with a hard stare. “I will tell you whatever you would like to know. Later. Right now, I feel we should all concentrate on celebrating Victor’s birthday.”  
  
Bobby looks mildly impressed. He nods gruffly and turns away to find Ash. Dean waits until no one is looking before pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple.  
  
“You know, you don’t have to tell him anything if you don’t want to.”  
  
“Dean, you told me once that he is like a father to you. He is part of your family. I will do everything in my power to make him trust me.”  
  
“If I tell him to trust you, he’ll trust you.”  
  
“You do not trust me.”  
  
Dean laughs against Castiel’s hair. “If you say so.”  
  
The rest of the night passes smoothly, extra bodies filling the Roadhouse with warm laughter. Castiel sits between Dean and Jo, trying to make himself invisible to the newcomers. It’s an increasingly difficult task, as Dean keeps nudging him throughout the meal and smiling like he knows a secret, with draws Garth’s attention. The meal extends for several hours, everyone snacking slowly as they chatter. Finally, when Victor has left with his family and Benny has returned home, Bobby walks into the backyard to find Dean and Castiel sharing a cigarette. Their backs are against the oak tree, and Dean has his arm wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel, in turn, is pressed closely to Dean’s side.  
  
Bobby sighs heavily as he lowers himself into the grass a few feet in front of them. Dean stills, but doesn’t move. Wordlessly, Castiel hands him the cigarette. Bobby takes off his baseball cap, scratches his graying hair, and replaces the cap.  
  
“So,” he says, “who was going to tell me about this?”  
  
The question is met with silence. Castiel doesn’t know how to answer, and Dean is pointedly avoiding Bobby’s gaze while he smokes. Bobby sighs.  
  
“Alright, fine. When did it start?”  
  
“Last month, sir,” Castiel says in a small voice.  
  
“Don’t call me sir. Do you both plan on continuing this?”  
  
“Yes, si- Bobby. Yes.”  
  
“Is he treating you right?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Are you treating him right?”  
  
Dean stubs the cigarette out in the grass and shoots the older man a warning glare before Castiel can answer. “Bobby. That’s enough.”  
  
Bobby holds up both of his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Can’t blame me for tryin’. Down to business, though, I was promised answers. Ellen calls you Novak. Who are you, really?”  
  
Castiel draws in a deep breath. “My name is Castiel Angeles. Novak was my mother’s maiden name. It is the name I gave Ellen in November to protect myself. She insisted that I continue to use it.”  
  
“What do you need protection from?”  
  
“A life of murder. My family heads the mob known as the Reapers. I want no part of it. Under normal circumstances, I would have run farther. However, I could not make it past the edge of town. I ended up here and I stayed.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“They offered me a safe place and kindness. I worked in return for their blind protection. When the situation with my family escalated to a dangerous level, I returned the favor and left the Roadhouse to protect them.”  
  
“You left?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re here, though.”  
  
“He got stabbed in the back,” Dean cuts in. His green eyes, which were so affectionate towards Bobby earlier, are now guarded. “Literally. By his own brother. Tell me you wouldn’t come back to a safe place if the same thing happened to you.”  
  
Castiel places a hand on Dean’s thigh and his defensive attitude deflates. Bobby raises an eyebrow. He huffs a laugh.  
  
“Alright. You two are killing me. Go on, go home. I know you don’t want to stay around here any longer. Shoo.”  
  
Castiel stands and offers his hand to Bobby, but the gruff man shakes his head. Dean pushes to his feet, and after a moment of whispered conversation with Bobby, leaves him sitting alone in the grass. As they round the corner of the Roadhouse, Castiel looks back with only a slight bit of concern.  
  
“Should we leave him there?”  
  
“He said to let Ellen find him. I dunno, Cas, he does his own thing.”  
  
As they emerge onto the gravel path in front of the Roadhouse, Dean takes Castiel’s hand in his own. The entire walk into town, Dean makes increasingly flirty remarks, which initially cause Castiel to roll his eyes, but eventually have him biting the inside of his cheek. He’s reluctant to let go of Dean’s hand as they enter town, but this soon after sunset, it’s unsafe for either of them to be flaunting their relationship. The moment they have closed the door of Dean’s townhouse, Castiel surges forward to kiss Dean.  
  
Dean makes a small noise of surprise, but responds eagerly. He places his hands on Castiel’s waist and pushes him up against the wall. They kick off their shoes, still connected at the lips, and begin stumbling down the hallway. Castiel whines when Dean pulls way, but gasps when he immediately bites Castiel’s neck.  
  
“Could you two maybe not do that?”  
  
Both Dean and Castiel jump at the unexpected voice. Dean smacks his elbow against the wall and yelps, Castiel draws a knife from his pocket and begins creeping to the end of the hall.  
  
“I mean, I know you’re not exactly expecting company,” the voice continues, “but it’s really quite rude to neck on each other in front of a guest.”  
  
Dean moves to join Castiel just as he creep around the end of the hallway into the living room. Castiel swears violently and slams his knife onto an end table as he flips on the lights. A short man with golden hair is sitting calmly on Dean’s couch, looking like he’s made himself quite at home while he was alone.  
  
“Nice place you got here,” he says, cheeky grin never leaving his lips, “Not exactly the Ritz, but nice. Maybe I shoulda come sooner.”  
  
“Who the hell are you?”  
  
The man gasps in mock surprise, pressing a hand delicately to his chest. Castiel looks livid. “Dear Cassie never told you? I’m so disappointed.”  
  
“Gabriel, leave. Now.”  
  
Dean looks to Castiel with wide eyes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Gabriel? As in your brother Gabriel?”  
  
“Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Now go away. The big boys need to talk.”  
  
“He stays, Gabriel.” Castiel’s voice is low and dangerous. “You are the one who has invaded his home. You have no right to tell him what to do.”  
  
“Oh, but you do?”  
  
“No. I do not own him.”  
  
“But you do fuck him.”  
  
Dean feels himself flush bright pink. He opens his mouth, but Castiel continues without flinching. “No, Gabriel, I don’t.”  
  
“Oh, oh, I see. He’s the one fucking you.”  
  
“What I do in bed is none of your business.”  
  
“Not really, no, but this is some interesting news. I wonder how Michael would feel about his baby brother being fucked by a low-class bartender.”  
  
“Enough!” Dean shouts, still red in the face.  
  
Both brothers freeze. Dean pushes Castiel gently in the direction of the couch and nods for him to sit. When he does, Dean drags his only armchair over so he can sit across from the two brothers. He pinches the bridge of his nose.  
  
“One of you had better tell me what the hell is going on here. And can we please, for the love of God, stop talking about who is fucking who?”  
  
Castiel looks sullen beside his brother. “I apologize, Dean. That was rather immature. This is my brother Gabriel. He is a twenty-nine year-old, undergrown, nosy child.”  
  
Gabriel scoffs. “Rude. You’re not that much taller than I am. Anyway, I came to deliver a message. You weren’t home, so I waited.”  
  
Dean groans. “Breaking into my house is really not a good way to wait.”  
  
“Works for me.”  
  
“Dean, I am going to punch him.”  
  
“Cas, no. Don’t provoke him.”  
  
“Please, Dean. He is aggravating me. He deserves it.”  
  
“He saved your life, Cas, you can’t punch him.”  
  
Gabriel perks up at this. “Ooooh, I did? Cassie, why didn’t you tell me I was a hero?”  
  
“I will break your nose, Gabriel. Again.”  
  
Dean sighs and buries his face in his hands. _I am never having children_ , he thinks as the brothers bicker. “Okay, okay, enough! Dickface, you said you have a message to deliver. So deliver it and get out.”  
  
Gabriel drops the happy act. He looks surprisingly serious for a man who, thirty seconds ago, was wearing a shit-eating grin as he antagonized his baby brother. “Fine. Castiel, Michael is coming. I don’t know when. But this time, he knows about your speakeasy. He knows it’s Harvelle’s Roadhouse and he knows that Crowley supplies it. The Hellhounds have been gaining ground. If someone recognizes you at that bar and realizes what’s happening, it’s going to be very bad for all of us. Michael is going to bring you home.”  
  
“Really, Gabriel? I told you once before, my home is here now.”  
  
“Okay, fine! Michael is going to bring you back to the house.”  
  
“I am not going back to that place. Lucian stabbed me. Does that mean nothing?”  
  
“Lucian was angry. You know how he gets, and you tried to leave anyway. He has apologized many times, but Michael has already stated that he will not allow Lucian near you without me.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Cassie, come on. I am trying to protect you.”  
  
“I do not need your protection.”  
  
“What about the people you wanted me to look after so badly last time? Are you going to let Michael come for them?”  
  
“If Michael comes near my family, he will be the one in danger.”  
  
Gabriel sighs in defeat. “Fine. What about your birthday? Will you at least be back for that?”  
  
“… No. And I fully expect you to stay away.”  
  
“Cassie-”  
  
“No, Gabriel. You can tell Michael that I am not going to fall for his tricks. I refuse to live in a place where I am appreciated only because I know valuable secrets. I will live in constant danger somewhere I am happy rather than live in constant danger somewhere I am trapped.” Castiel stands calmly and points toward the front door. “Now, if you will excuse yourself, I have been waiting all day for this kind gentleman to fuck me.”  
  
Once again, Dean flushes bright red and chokes on air. This time, however, Gabriel nods and moves for the door. He pauses at the end of the hallway with his hand resting on the handle, looking back in their direction with his grin fixed in place once again.  
  
“You kids have fun! Be safe!”  
  
And with a click of the lock, Castiel’s brother is gone. Dean blinks up at Castiel from where he sits in the armchair. “Um… what just happened?”  
  
“You just met my brother,” Castiel mutters, sinking back onto the couch with a hand over his eyes. “The only one I occasionally enjoy speaking with. He actually thinks that he is helping me.”  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow and stands up, walking around the coffee table to Castiel. He extends his hand and waits for Castiel to peek out from under his fingers. “Come on. It’s bedtime.”  
  
“Dean, I only said that to get him out, I really-”  
  
“He ruined the mood. I get it. Can we please just sleep?”  
  
Castiel smiles softly and nods. He allows Dean to pull him off the couch and into the bedroom. As they crawl into bed together, Castiel leans over to kiss Dean’s cheek. “I apologize about Gabriel. He has no boundaries.”  
  
“I see where you get it from.”  
  
“Oh, hush.” Silence falls for a moment, then Castiel speaks softly again. “Thank you. For… staying with me. Even through all this trouble.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Cas. And if you leave me in the middle of the night for your brother again, I will personally hunt you down.”  
  
Castiel laughs softly, but doesn’t respond. They fall asleep facing each other, smiles on their lips. In the morning, Dean wakes to sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains while Castiel traces lines on his chest. Castiel huffs as Dean stretches, then snuggles back up to his side and resumes his tracing. Dean smiles sleepily.  
  
“Cas, what are you doing?”  
  
“Thinking.”  
  
“’Bout what? Please don’t say your brother.”  
  
“No. I wondered… what does your tattoo mean?”  
  
Dean watches the ceiling, rubbing Castiel’s back absentmindedly. “It’s something my dad had. He was religious, in a weird way. Didn’t practice any faiths, never prayed, but always talked about demons and creatures from the bible. He used to say his tattoo was an anti-possession symbol. After he died, I wanted something to remember him by. It was sort of a joke, since Ellen does business with the Hellhounds, that I got this one to match my dad’s. But it’s part of me, now, I guess.”  
  
Castiel allows his hand to come to a rest beside the tattoo, just above Dean’s heart. “What about your mother? Did she believe the same as your father?”  
  
“Nah. Mom… she was actually religious. She used to take me and Sammy to church with her every Sunday. And every night before bed, she had us pray together. Even when we got older and thought it was an odd tradition. And up until the day she died, she would come into our room to kiss us goodnight and tell us that angels were watching over us.”  
  
“Do you believe in God?”  
  
“I used to. Not really anymore. I prayed for my mom to come back after she died, and she never did. I prayed for my dad to give a shit about me. I prayed for the state to let me see Sam. I stopped believing after Sam’s eighteenth birthday. I had begged God to give him back, since the state wasn’t going to keep him, and I never even found out where Sam went. If there is a God, he took my whole family away. He hasn’t done shit for me. I wouldn’t put my faith in him even if he appeared in front of me and told me the secrets of the universe.”  
  
“My parents used to have family devotions,” Castiel says quietly. “Anna remembers better than I do. We would go to church every week and assist with charity events. After they died, Anna continued the devotions and took Gabriel and I to church. But everyone always said that God does not love homosexuals, so… I stopped listening when I was fourteen. I believe he exists, but… I do not love God.”  
  
Dean falls quiet, and the house stills. Wordlessly, he draws Castiel closer to his side and holds him tighter. They lay together in silence until the clock on the mantle chimes and urges them out of bed.  
  
The next few days pass without any major occurrence. Four days after Victor’s birthday, Benny and Garth depart back to the country. On the sixth day, Dean receives a shock. Dinner rush has just finished at the Roadhouse, so Castiel has disappeared into the back room. He is undoubtedly eating a quick meal with Jo while Ellen and Benny wait tables. Victor is working the kitchen tonight, and Ash is on clean-up duty like usual. Dean, working the bar, feels rather than sees or hears as someone approaches.  
  
“Be with you in a moment,” he says as he pops the cork off a wine bottle and slides it across the bar to Ellen. He keeps an eye on her even as he wipes his hands on the towel tucked around his belt and turns to the customer. “What can I get you?”  
  
“I’ll take some giggle water, the name of that blonde doll, and my brother’s current location.”  
  
The voice immediately makes Dean whip his head around. “Gabriel?”  
  
“Attaboy, Dean-O!”  
  
With tremendous effort, Dean resists the urge to look for Castiel. He had seen Jo emerge from the back room, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to where Castiel might be. He fills a tumbler with whiskey and slides it over to Gabriel.  
  
“You’ve got one of three. You’re not getting the other two.”  
  
Gabriel sips at his whiskey and shrugs. “That’s what you think. I need to see Cassie.”  
  
“And the girl?”  
  
“She’s pretty. What?” Gabriel asks, noting how angry Dean looks. “Can I not compliment people in this place? _Relax_ , big guy. I honestly just came to talk to my little brother.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Who says you get to decide that?”  
  
“I do. And I say no.”  
  
“Hi, boys,” Jo says as she flounces up to the bar. She sets down a tray of empty glasses and motions for Dean to begin filling them. She seems to notice that she doesn’t know Gabriel and holds out her hand for him to shake. “New face around here, huh? I’m Joanna.”  
  
“Gabriel,” the man with golden hair replies, taking Jo’s hand and kissing it with a sidelong smirk at Dean. “Pleasure to meet you.”  
  
Jo giggles and withdraws her hand. Dean sullenly refills the glasses on her tray as she leans on the counter so she can talk with Gabriel.  
  
“So what brings you our way? Not much else around here.”  
  
“Family business.”  
  
Jo raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard that one before.”  
  
Dean nudges the now-full tray toward her. “I thought you were on break, Jo.”  
  
“I was,” she says, giving Dean a confused look, “and now I’m not. If you’re looking for-”  
  
“No. Deliver the drinks, please.”  
  
“Jeez, you’re in a bad mood tonight. Did something happen with Ca-”  
  
“ _Jo_.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” she mumbles insolently, picking up the tray and swishing her way back into the crowd.  
  
Gabriel lets out a low whistle. “She sure seems like a bearcat.”  
  
“Hey,” Dean says warningly. “Don’t talk about her that way.”  
  
Gabriel hold up his hands in surrender. “Alright. You’re not going to let me talk to Cassie, are you?”  
  
“Not a chance.”  
  
“Why are you so against me?”  
  
“You just talked to him a few days ago. He doesn’t need to see you.”  
  
“What, so now you’re the only one who can spend time with him? He’s _my_ brother. You’re just a gold-digger.”  
  
Dean sets down the thick glass bottle he’s holding with a heavy thump. “You think that I’m with Cas because he’s _rich_? If you haven’t noticed, we work at the same place. We earn the same wages, and he’s not exactly running back to you for extra funds. So I guess it’s hard for you to wrap your head around, but some of us actually like your brother for who he is.”  
  
Gabriel doesn’t answer. He drains his glass of whiskey and sets a few coins on the bar beside it. “Temper, temper. You don’t have to believe me, Dean-O, but I want Cassie safe just as much as you do. Michael isn’t going to wait much longer. He says it’s time for Cassie to come home, or…”  
  
“Or what?”  
  
“We go for a ride.”  
  
Gabriel gives Dean a meaningful look and exits the Roadhouse. Dean can feel his heart slow down. It’s been close to a year, but this is why Castiel ran in the first place. This is what he was afraid of all along. Dean debates the entire night if he’s going to tell Castiel what Gabriel said or not. Finally, the guilt of keeping secrets from Castiel wins out over the fear of telling him. As expected, Castiel is furious that his brother would dare set foot in the Roadhouse.  
  
A tense two weeks pass in which Castiel ignores Gabriel’s warning and Dean anxiously keeps close to Castiel. Dean picks up the habit of glancing over his shoulder and watching the front door of the Roadhouse. Jo, after trying and failing to get Dean to tell her what’s wrong, deems him ‘moody’. Ellen is continuously watching Dean and Castiel, to the point where Castiel- politely but forcefully- tells her that they are fine and that she does not need to mother them. On the eighth of September, the Roadhouse hosts a party. It’s a wedding reception for some high-class family with a load of cash and a bar full of friends.  
  
It’s amazing how many people are willing to break the law to have a good time, Dean thinks. The Roadhouse is packed with people in nice suits and fancy dresses, and more are coming and going every few minutes. Anxious as he is about Gabriel’s warning, Dean thinks nothing of it when a group of five well-dressed men enter the Roadhouse. He glances over and nods at their leader, a tall man with black hair and blue eyes. If he were younger and shorter, with a stubbly beard and a backwards tie, he might resemble Castiel.  
  
The man eyes Dean coldly, then flicks his gaze to where Castiel is singing onstage. He motions with his hand and the four men standing behind him disperse into the crowd. One of them, a thin blonde with a thick British accent, sidles up to the bar and orders a shot of whiskey. Dean slides it across the bar wordlessly, watching the man with black hair observe Castiel.  
  
The man doesn’t wait for Castiel to finish the song. He strides through the crowd to the edge of the stage and says something to Castiel. Dean, with a sinking feeling, watches as Castiel ignores the man who is quickly becoming more and more animated and angry. Dean moves to step out from behind the bar, but the blonde man catches his attention for another shot. Somewhat testily, Dean pours the shot. The commotion at the stage has begun to catch the attention of some of the patrons, as well as Benny and Victor, who are waiting tables together. The man vaults onto the stage and seizes Castiel’s arm.  
  
With determination, Castiel wrenches his arm free and continues singing like nothing is wrong. Urgent whispers cut through the gentle melody, but Dean can’t understand what the man is saying. The next time the man grabs for Castiel’s arm, Castiel pushes him away. Victor starts walking toward the stage in warning, but one of the four men appears in front of him as a distraction. The microphone stand falls to the ground with a loud, ringing thud as Castiel is jerked to the side and pulled off the stage by his arm. The man drags him towards the door, unaffected by how hard Castiel is struggling.  
  
Dean moves out to block their path, but the man holding Castiel’s arm ignores him. He shoulders Dean on his way past, and Castiel throws a terrified look over his shoulder. As the four men fall into step behind the black-haired man, Dean makes up his mind.  
  
“Hey,” he shouts. His voice rings out into a deafening silence that had started when the singing stopped. “Hey, asshole!”  
  
The man does not turn around, but waves his hand vaguely. Castiel, still struggling to get away, stamps on the man’s foot to buy himself some time.  
  
“Dean! Behind you!”  
  
Dean whirls around just in time to duck beneath a punch. He misses as the black-haired man backhands Castiel across the face. Castiel yelps, and the four men crowd around Dean. He manages to fight for a moment, but one of them lands a blow that knocks him to the floor. He thinks he can see one of them pushing Benny away, but the world goes fuzzy and dark.  
  
  
When Dean wakes, he’s lying on a bed that feels more expensive than anything he’s ever owned. He groans as he rolls over, not sure if he’s going to puke or pass out again. He presses a hand against his eyes in hopes that his head will stop swimming. His chest feels tight and his mouth is cottony like after a bad hangover. He’s been in enough fights to know that this is not like waking up after being knocked out. Someone obviously drugged him while he was asleep.  
  
As Dean is struggling to push himself into a sitting position, the door eases open. A small blonde girl walks in, followed by a taller woman with red hair. The girl looks like she’s about sixteen, and timid. She sets a silver platter on a small table and is dismissed by the woman with red hair. The woman crosses the room and sits calmly in an armchair. She doesn’t look at Dean, choosing instead to examine her perfectly manicured fingernails.  
  
“Aren’t you going to eat, Dean? You must be hungry.”  
  
Dean surveys her with distaste. “Anna?”  
  
The woman glances at him, purses her lips, and resumes her examination. “Clever boy. Though I suppose Castiel told you.”  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
“Hmm. You’re impatient. I suppose Gabriel was actually right.”  
  
“Where did you take Cas?”  
  
“Would you relax?” Anna snaps, finally looking at him for more than a few seconds. Her green eyes are fierce. “You act like we’ve taken him prisoner. He’s our _brother_ , for god’s sake. It not like we’re going to lock him in a dungeon and torture him.”  
  
Dean stares blankly. “Michael was going to kill him.”  
  
“Empty threat,” Anna says dismissively, “We needed him to come back and he wasn’t listening. Intimidation is power.”  
  
When Dean doesn’t respond, she sighs and stands so she can pick up the silver tray and move it to the bed. Dean has finally managed to sit up, and he eyes the food on the platter warily.  
  
“Food in your system will help you regain your strength. Michael says you’re not to be left alone, and I would quite like to return to the parlor for tea. So eat, and don’t stain the sheets- they are worth more than your life. Hurry up.”  
  
Finally, Dean gives in. He eats the sandwich quickly, more grateful for the glass of cold water than the plate of food. When he has finished, Anna moves to the door and calls sweetly for a maid. The blonde girl enters the room with a demure smile.  
  
“Take this tray back to the kitchens and report to Michael. Thank you, Muriel.”  
  
Muriel nods and exits the room with the silver platter balanced carefully in her hands. Anna looks back at Dean with a pointed stare until he pushes himself off the bed and walks over to join her. She purses her lips when she sees his outfit, then sighs.  
  
“Don’t touch anything, don’t wander off, don’t speak to anyone.”  
  
“Harsh rules.”  
  
“Live with it.”  
  
Dean bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything rude in response. Anna leads him out into a hallway that makes him question just how rich these people are. Dean can’t help himself- he peers through every open doorway until Anna smacks his arm.  
  
“You’re dangerously close to wandering off. Pay attention to where you’re walking. You will not be able to rely on others forever.”  
  
“Forever?”  
  
“I said not to speak.”  
  
They come to the end of the hallway and turn right. Dean is expecting another hallway, but they step out onto an elegant balcony. At the other side of the balcony is an archway identical to the one they’ve just walked through, and directly in the center is a wide marble staircase. Dean’s gut twists as he recalls Castiel saying he ‘fell’ down these stairs. Anna is unaffected. She runs a hand along the exquisite banister as she descends the staircase, and Dean has to resist the urge to copy her movements as he trails behind her.  
  
Distantly, Dean hears raised voices, but he doesn’t get to ask about it before Anna crosses the large foyer and escorts Dean into a parlor. So Castiel lives in a mansion, apparently. Great.  
  
“Sit,” Anna commands, motioning to an assortment of armchairs. A man with short blonde hair and grey-blue eyes surveys Dean with a cool look as he sits down. Anna pours a cup of tea from a pot sitting on the coffee table and hands it to the man where he sits at the end of a plush couch.  
  
“Thank you, Anna. I take it that this is Castiel’s new toy?”  
  
Anna hums an affirmation as she pours another cup of tea. This time, she adds a splash of cream and a spoonful of sugar. She places a small teacake on a delicate plate and hands both to Dean.  
  
“Doesn’t look like he would cause much trouble,” the man murmurs as he lifts his teacup to his lips. “But I suppose Castiel does have a knack for finding broken things.”  
  
The man’s voice is soft and gentle. It should be calming, but Dean has the distinct impression of a venomous snake waiting to strike. When Dean catches the man’s eye, he feels like he’s been thrown into a snowbank. He wants to look away, but he represses a shudder and steels his nerve.  
  
“Lucian, right? Yeah, you look like the type of guy who would stab his own brother.”  
  
Lucian’s lips twitch into an almost-smile. “Look how cute this one is, Anna. He thinks he knows what happened.”  
  
Anna rolls her eyes. She has settled on the opposite end of the couch, her teacup held in one hand and a book in the other. “You can have him if you want, Luce, I’m rather tired of babysitting already.”  
  
“You could just let me go,” Dean suggests.  
  
Anna shoots him a glare. “Drink your tea, eat your cake, and shut up.”  
  
“See, I would, but I’m really not a big fan of cake.”  
  
Lucian smirks. “I see why Gabriel likes him. Though perhaps we’ll keep that tidbit about cake to ourselves.”  
  
Anna does not look impressed with her brother. Then again, she really doesn’t seem to be impressed by anything at all. Dean refuses the drink the tea, and he doesn’t miss the way Lucian watches him. Finally, the tense silence that doesn’t seem to bother the Angeles siblings is broken by the chiming of a large grandfather clock. Dean looks to it in surprise, not having realized the time. Several hours have passed since the incident at the Roadhouse.  
  
Muriel enters the room and stands silently by the doorway. She doesn’t speak until Lucian beckons her forward.  
  
“Yes, Muriel?”  
  
“Shall I accompany our guest back to his bedroom?”  
  
“That would be wise, thank you.”  
  
The maid waits for Dean to join her, then nods politely to Lucian and Anna. “Goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight, Muriel,” they say together, though neither is paying attention.  
  
Dean follows Muriel obediently until they are back up the marble staircase. She turns to the right to take him back where he came from, but Dean slinks off to the left. He has made it halfway down the new hallway before he hears a voice behind him.  
  
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”  
  
Dean stops and turns around. Michael is standing in the middle of the hallway, his hands folded behind his back. He looks much more composed now than he had at the Roadhouse while kidnapping Castiel.  
  
“Join me.”  
  
Michael tilts his head toward an open doorway, then disappears through it. Dean frowns and follows him. The office he enters is large and well-decorated. Michael stands behind a shiny wooden desk, holding an ornate glass bottle.  
  
“Leave the door open,” he says. “Brandy?”  
  
Dean shakes his head. Michael shrugs and pours a glass for himself. He sits calmly behind the desk and motions for Dean to sit in a leather armchair. With a prickle of irritation, Dean does so. Why can’t anyone in this family use words to ask for things?  
  
“I apologize for the mishap at the speakeasy. Castiel was meant to return weeks ago, and it was not my intention to cause a scene.”  
  
Dean stares at Michael’s carefully parted hair. He doesn’t respond. Michael sips his brandy and sets it delicately on the desk.  
  
“You understand why we had to drug you, of course. Castiel was not going to leave without you, obviously; he has been running back to you for months, now. But you would not come without a fight. You nearly broke Balthazar’s arm before Virgil managed to subdue you. To keep you from causing trouble, I had Inias ensure that you would not wake and struggle until we were comfortable with the situation.”  
  
Dean bristles a little with contained anger. He knew someone had drugged him. Michael doesn’t seem to notice as he continues talking.  
  
“I wondered, at first, what was keeping Castiel local. I suppose I was more surprised than I should have been when my Reapers found you. Castiel is… soft. He is not as adept at this line of work as we had hoped. I believe it may be his age- there is a large gap between him and the rest of us. He is closest to Gabriel, but even that is an age difference of nine years.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
Michael smiles when Dean interrupts him. It’s not the reaction Dean was expecting.  
  
“I wanted you to speak with me, and Muriel has told me that you only talk about Castiel. I thought I might coax you into a conversation if I told Muriel to let you slip away from her.”  
  
Dean stays silent for a moment. He’s been backed into a corner. If he stops talking, he’ll have to listen to Michael chatter endlessly. But if he opens his mouth, he’s going to ask about Castiel. With a mental groan, he gives in.  
  
“Good guess. Where is he?”  
  
“Castiel is perfectly safe. You have no need to worry.”  
  
“Lucian is loose in the house.”  
  
“My brother is not a dog, Mr. Winchester.”  
  
Dean’s gut lurches as he realizes that Michael does, in fact, know his name. Outside, thunder claps. It’s oddly fitting. Dean tries to ignore the rain he can hear pattering the roof. Michael, calm as ever, sips his brandy and watches Dean through calculating blue eyes.  
  
“Lucian thinks I’m going to cause trouble.”  
  
“Please refrain from doing so. I am inclined to keep you on good terms with this family.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s going to work. See, I’ve already got problems. You threatened Cas, and Lucian stabbed him.”  
  
“Cas?” Michael pauses and tips his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in confusion. This must be where Castiel got it from. “I was unaware he allowed anyone to call him that. Gabriel tends to refer to him as Cassie, but… well, Gabriel is difficult to control.”  
  
“Let me see him and I’ll think about being polite to you. Not Lucian.”  
  
Michael sighs heavily. “Oh, very well. Out the door and to your right. He is in the last room on the left.”  
  
Dean stands and is nearly out of the office before he remembers his manners. He pauses and turns, giving a short and half-hearted bow. “Michael.”  
  
He raises his brandy glass with a nod. “Dean.”  
  
Dean practically runs down the hallway. The last door on the left is made of heavy, dark wood. Dean pauses, wondering if he should knock or not, then decides that he doesn’t care. He throws open the door to reveal a bedroom that is nearly the size of his entire house.  
  
Castiel is sitting on a bench in the bay window, watching the rain as he smokes. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, he’s missing his vest, and his suspenders hang uselessly from his belt. His feet are bare. He has his knees drawn up to his chest, where Dean can see that his tie is actually done properly, though it has been loosened.  
  
Castiel barely has time to look away from where he has the window cracked open before Dean has crossed the room and pulled him in for a kiss. He lets out a soft ‘oomph’ of surprise and melts into Dean’s hold on him. When they pull apart, Castiel looks a little dazed.  
  
“You’re okay,” he whispers. Dean sees that his hands are trembling.  
  
“I’m okay.”  
  
“What did they do to you?”  
  
“Kept me out of trouble. They thought I was going to fight my way back to you. I would have.”  
  
“I didn’t hear any fighting.”  
  
“Michael sent me.”  
  
Castiel draws in a shaky breath and nods. He presses his cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag before he answers again. “So what did you say?”  
  
Dean frowns. “Say to what?”  
  
Confusion clouds Castiel’s blue eyes. “The… offer… Michael- I thought he was going to… what happened?”  
  
“I slipped away from the maid and Michael caught me? Not really anything. By the way, Lucian is creepy as all hell.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t laugh, and Dean feels his chest tighten in worry. “Dean, I… Michael told me he was going to make you a Reaper. Didn’t he…?”  
  
“No? I mean, he told me he wanted me on good terms with your siblings, but he didn’t say anything about the Reapers, not really. So are we gonna bust out and head home or what?”  
  
“What? No!” Castiel looks like he’s offended by the suggestion, and Dean is taken aback. “No, we need to wait until the early morning when everyone is asleep. Right now, they will all still be awake. They are waiting for Gabriel to return. We will stay here until an hour before dawn.”  
  
Before Dean can reply, there is a gentle knock at the door. Muriel stands in the doorway, holding another silver tray. Castiel waves her in. She sets the tray on his bedside table and backs out of the room without ever speaking. Dean looks at Castiel questioningly. Castiel stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray on the windowsill and pushes himself off the bench seat.  
  
“Nightly tea,” he offers as an explanation.  
  
Dean sighs as he follows Castiel across the room. “What is with this family and tea? And why is everything so damn big?”  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes as he pours out a steaming cup of tea. “Tea is relaxing. Our business is stressful. My parents had a rather refined taste when it came to homes and furniture. Everything in this house is the best of the best.”  
  
Castiel pours cream into the tea and adds a spoonful of sugar. He tastes it, adds a little more sugar, and hands it to Dean with a fond smile. Dean sips the tea and makes a surprised face.  
  
“Okay, that’s actually not that bad.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Castiel prepares his own cup of tea. He sits on the bed beside Dean and leans into his side with a sigh. The two men drink together quietly, neither quite realizing that their eyes are growing heavy. But when Dean’s cup slips from his hands and smashes on the wooden floor, Castiel doesn’t jump in surprise. He knows he should have, but he can’t move. Before he can piece two and two together, he and Dean are both asleep.  
  
  
Castiel wakes to the feeling of being jolted around. His hands are bound together and his mind feels funny. His brothers voices, mere inches from him, are distant beneath the roar of blood in his ears. His vision starts clearing, but he can’t quite think straight. He doesn’t know what to do. He dares a glance around, and spots Dean coming to close by. Wind ruffles his hair and, at long last, Castiel realizes that they are in the backseat of a car- Michael’s car.  
  
It’s a big black beast with a convertible top and enough seats for six people. Dean stares at Castiel with wide green eyes, his hands bound together and a gag preventing him from speaking. Castiel’s heart beats a staccato rhythm against his sternum. Slowly, the movement barely visible, Castiel shakes his head in warning. Dean furrows his brow. This draws Gabriel’s attention.  
  
“Whatcha lookin’ so scared for, Dean-O? Didn’t Cassie tell you we would bring you along?”  
  
Dean jerks against his bonds and Gabriel laughs. There is no joy in it.  
  
“Sorry, big guy, I forgot. Cassie didn’t know about the trip. Why is, that, I wonder?”  
  
“Gabriel,” Michael says warningly from the front. Gabriel smirks wryly and continues like he hasn’t heard his brother.  
  
“Maybe because we’re taking a family trip so that we can kill our baby brother’s boyfriend.”  
  
Castiel lets out a strangled cry of surprise. He hasn’t quite regained his senses after being drugged. Michael sighs.  
  
“Gabriel, I told you to keep your mouth shut.”  
  
“Yeah, and I ignored you. Because I don’t agree. This isn’t going to do us any good, Mikey, you know it won’t!”  
  
“Castiel is going to stay home, now.”  
  
“You think that killing Dean is going to keep Cassie home? This is going to make him run further than he ever has before, and he’ll die before he comes back.” Gabriel looks to Dean, his amber eyes filled with cynicism. “That’s right, Dean-O, he’ll choose you. He’ll always choose you.”  
  
“If you know he cannot answer, why do you antagonize him?”  
  
“Um… let me think… it’s fun, Michael, fun. You do know what fun is, right? No, probably not. You’re too busy being Dad and killing innocent people all the time.”  
  
Anna, beside Castiel, scoffs. Gabriel rounds on her with his mouth open like he’s about to snap at her, too. Before he can, there is the sound of a gunshot and the car lurches. It rolls over onto its side with a horrible crunching noise after the tires squeal. By the time it shudders to a stop, each and every passenger has been thrown. Castiel looks around with wild blue eyes, trying to find Dean through the sudden commotion.  
  
People are screaming. Michael has leapt to his feet and pulled out his pistol. Gunfire echoes around them. Dean is lying on the ground, blood streaming from his forehead as he struggles to free his hands from their ties. Castiel crawls over slowly, wincing at the pain in his leg. He reaches to pull Dean’s gag down, and Dean sucks in a panicked breath of air.  
  
“Cas? Cas, are you okay?”  
  
Castiel nods, not sure if he trusts his voice. Dean finally manages to break free from the bindings and starts working at the ones around Castiel’s wrists. Gabriel runs past them, shouting something about a Hellhound ambush. Castiel looks over in time to see Anna push Michael out of the way of a bullet.  
  
They are standing just to the side of the flipped automobile, firing into a crowd of men wearing the Hellhounds’ signature masks. And then, Anna drops to the ground with a scream of pain. Blood blossoms on her dress. Castiel chokes on his frightened cry, and Dean pulls him close to his chest. Through the fear and confusion and shock, Castiel sees Lucian lowering his pistol. Hellhounds swarm the blonde man, and he disappears. Gabriel and Michael, ignoring the danger, have crowded around Anna’s body.  
  
Dean seizes the opportunity. He grabs Castiel by the hand and bursts into a run. It only takes a moment before Castiel finds his voice again and begins screaming. Soon after, his legs fail him. He stumbles and hits the ground hard. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s chest and drags him further and further away from the sight of his sister’s death.  
  
They show up at the Roadhouse hours later, when the sun has reached full height in the sky. Clouds have begun to gather, and the day grows dark. Dean and Castiel are both bruised and bloodied, covered in dirt and sweat from their mad escape. They enter Ellen’s house the back way so that no one in the Roadhouse will see them. Dean is supporting most of Castiel’s weight as the shorter man moves numbly. He hasn’t said a word since he stopped screaming, and his blue eyes are vacant.  
  
Dean has just gotten Castiel to collapse onto the couch and is closing the curtains in the sitting room when he hears a soft gasp behind him. He whirls around, ready to fight, and is met with the sight of Jo in the doorway.  
  
Her blue eyes are wide as she takes in the scene in front of her. Before she can even open her mouth, Dean shushes her.  
  
“Don’t yell,” he hisses, green eyes fierce. “Go get Ellen quietly and slowly. We aren’t here and nothing is wrong.”  
  
Looking like she’s seen a ghost, Jo nods and backs out of the room. Ellen appears in what seems like mere moments, her face pale and tired. She looks like she’s stayed up all night.  
  
“Dean? What happened?”  
  
“Anna’s dead.”  
  
“Anna?”  
  
Dean nods towards Castiel, who is still sitting on the couch with a shell-shocked expression, his blue eyes watery. “Big sister.”  
  
Ellen, if possible, grows even more concerned. “They came for him, then? That was them that took you yesterday?”  
  
“Keep your voice down. No one can know we’re here. We need help, Ellen. Please.”  
  
“Of course. I don’t want either of you to leave this room. I’m gonna get you both cleaned up and Ash will bring you some food.”  
  
Ellen leaves the room quickly. Dean gets the feeling she doesn’t want to linger. Castiel isn’t the type to be comforted, and that’s all Ellen knows how to do. Dean approaches the couch slowly and kneels in front of Castiel. He reaches up a hand and wraps it gently around both of Castiel’s.  
  
“Cas? Talk to me, man, are you still with me?”  
  
“… It was Lucian…”  
  
Dean frowns. “What?”  
  
Castiel raises his eyes to Dean’s face. His lower lip is trembling. He speaks in a whisper, his voice uneven and afraid. “He- he shot Anna. It wasn’t a Hellhound, it was Lucian.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Castiel nods. He swallows hard. “I’ve been suspicious of him for quite a while. That’s why he stabbed me last time I ran. I know far too much. But I didn’t say anything, and now… now, Anna… An-”  
  
Castiel’s breath hitches. Dean casts his gaze to the ceiling and swears under his breath. It’s all starting to make sense. If Castiel’s theory is right, Lucian has been working with the Hellhounds to undermine the Reaper’s power. When someone suspects what he’s doing, he arranges to have them die. Castiel knew, so Lucian stabbed him. When Castiel lived, Lucian convinced Michael that the only way to keep Castiel around was to kill Dean. He knew that if Dean died, Castiel would run and his secret would stay safe. Which means that Anna had been suspecting the same thing as Castiel, and Lucian staged a kidnapping. Something must have gone wrong when the car flipped, so he shot her. Dean swears again.  
  
“Cas, we’re leaving.”  
  
“Dean, no, we- the Roadhouse, a-and your home, and-”  
  
“Cas, calm down. Calm down. We can get another house. Ellen will understand if we leave. You can’t stay this close to your family, it’s way too dangerous.”  
  
Castiel’s lip trembles dangerously. “Dean, if we leave, you’ll never see your family again.”  
  
“Your brother just killed your sister. What do you think he’s going to do to you? I am not going to lose you, Cas, I refuse. As soon as it’s safe again, we’re leaving.”  
  
Castiel argues until he breaks down into awful, wrenching sobs. Dean gathers Castiel close to his chest and holds him tightly, biting his tongue as he feels tears soaking his shirt. He doesn’t know what else to do.  
  
They stay at the Roadhouse for over a week, hiding out in different rooms of Ellen’s house. Castiel doesn’t speak much. He wanders aimlessly when he isn’t trailing after Dean, and his expression is constantly blank. The only time he shows emotion is when he starts grieving Anna. These episodes never last for long, but each one makes Dean feel more horrible than the last.  
  
It’s the morning of September eighteenth that finally makes Castiel come out of his shell. Dean is eating breakfast in silence with Ellen, Jo, and Ash when Castiel ambles into the kitchen. He still seems apathetic, but he isn’t choking back tears or staring into space. No one at the table is quite sure what to say until Jo speaks tentatively.  
  
“Ha- happy birthday, Castiel.”  
  
Ash looks to Jo with wide eyes, but Dean watches Castiel’s reaction carefully. Castiel gives a small start, looks up at the ceiling, then gives a tiny nod and looks to Jo.  
  
“Thank you, Joanna.”  
  
“How you feelin’, honey?” Ellen rises from her chair and begins putting together a plate of food.  
  
“I… I will be fine. I am adjusting.”  
  
Ellen knows better than to ask if he’s sure. She nods and hands him the plate. “Well, if you’re adjusting, then I can ask what you want to do today. Should I close the Roadhouse so we can celebrate your birthday, or would you prefer a quiet gathering after close?”  
  
“If you do not mind, Ellen, I would prefer not to acknowledge what day it is. I would like to work. I want to return to the routine.”  
  
Ellen nods, pointedly ignoring the glare that Dean shoots in her direction. “Of course. We’ll open in a half hour. You should start warming up.”  
  
Castiel nods. For a moment, it seems like he might offer her a smile, but instead he sits down beside Dean and wordlessly eats his food. Dean has to refrain himself from pulling Castiel off to the side to talk to him.  
  
With Castiel back on the stage, Ellen forces Dean behind the bar. She tells him that staying across the room from Castiel will do both of them some good after what they went through together. The day passes slowly. Dinner rush finally forces Dean to take his mind off Castiel and focus on the customers. But he can’t help it- whenever he gets the chance, Dean is watching Castiel sing.  
  
“Life is not a highway strewn with flowers… still, it holds a goodly share of bliss. When the sun gives way to-”  
  
Castiel cuts off the song with a horrified gasp. Dean turns to follow his gaze and is dragged forward by his tie. His chest slams against the surface of the bar. Lucian smashes a bottle and is about to swing the jagged glass at Dean’s face when Benny appears and punches him. Five men appear behind Lucian. Dean feels his heart stop.  
  
“Cas, go! RUN!”  
  
Victor drags Lucian off of Benny as Dean scrambles out from behind the bar. Out of nowhere, Ash tackles one of the five Hellhounds. Dean doesn’t have time to be impressed before Benny pushes him out of the way- Lucian has broken free of Victor and charged towards Dean. There is a Hellhound for each of the men in the bar, plus Lucian. Castiel, instead of running, joins the fray. On his way through the room, a woman hands Castiel a heavy wine bottle. He smashes it over the head of the nearest Hellhound. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean thinks he can hear Ellen and Jo yelling and keeping people out of the way of the fight. Lucian leaves a path of destruction on his way to Dean, cold fury in his eyes. But when three of his five men have been beaten down, he gives up on trying to reach Dean. With an evil glint in his eye, he pulls a pistol from his belt. Without aiming, Lucian turns the pistol on Castiel and pulls the trigger.  
  
“CASTIEL!”  
  
Dean lunges forward and knocks Lucian aside on his way to Castiel, who is standing wide-eyed staring at his stomach as blood stains his shirt. Behind Dean, Benny and Victor hold back the last two Hellhounds. Ash is beside Ellen and Jo, his arms flung out in front of them. All throughout the Roadhouse, people are screaming.  
  
Several tables have been overturned. Glasses and dinnerware have been smashed. No one dares go near Lucian. He’s breathing heavily, winded from the unexpected fight, but he smiles sickeningly. The Roadhouse has fallen silent. Dean can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He can feel the panic coursing through his veins. Castiel wavers on his feet as Dean reaches him, then sinks to the floor. Dean drops to his knees.  
  
“Cas, Cas, no, no, Cas… Cas!”  
  
“H-hello, Dean,” Castiel stammers, already going pale. He’s shaking. Dean drags the tablecloth off the nearest table and presses it against Castiel’s stomach in a wad. It doesn’t take long before blood is soaking through it. Castiel grimaces in pain. “P-please stay with me, D-Dean.”  
  
Dean nods, unsure what else to do. His voice trembles when he replies. “I’m not going anywhere Cas, I won’t leave your side.”  
  
Lucian laughs behind them. Dean looks over his shoulder to see where the blonde man is. Instead, he notices Jo slipping away from her mother and Ash, sneaking along the wall where Lucian can’t see her. Dean turns back to Castiel.  
  
“I… I’m so sorry, Dean. I- I meant you no harm. You-” He coughs, and blood spatters Dean’s face. Dean chokes back a whimper. “You should be with your f-family.”  
  
“You are my family, Cas, I told you that.”  
  
“N-not me, Dean. Them.”  
  
“I don’t want them without you. You’re family. We need you. I need you.”  
  
Castiel’s lip trembles as he smiles. Tears are leaking down his cheeks, mixing with the blood trickling from his mouth. He reaches up and presses a shaking hand to Dean’s cheek. “I... I l-love you, too, you assbutt.”  
  
This would be heaven, Dean thinks, if not for the blood on his hands. Everything about Castiel is so deeply profound that Dean cannot imagine the world without him- it will be devoid of all color and life and joy. It’s this thought that gives Dean the strength to look away from Castiel and turn towards Lucian.  
  
“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”  
  
“He knew too much.” Lucian pauses. He taps a finger against his lips as he pretends to think. “And really, so do you.”  
  
Dean barely registers the sound of the gunshot. Fire bursts through his chest and he loses his balance. He slumps to the floor beside Castiel, shock still written on his face. Lucian steps forward, unafraid, and gives the dying men a vicious smile.  
  
“By the way, Cassie, happy twenty-first.”  
  
Castiel makes some sort of garbled noise. He thinks he raises his hand to swipe at his brother, but his arm just twitches. Dean’s vision is blurring. He sees Jo smash the butt of the shotgun into the back of Lucian’s head, and then there is nothing.  
  
Jo drops the shotgun and stumbles backwards. Lucian is lying on the floor, surrounded by three Hellhounds and a pool of blood that is rapidly spreading away from Dean and Castiel. The two men’s hands are touching. All of the customers begin a terrified rush out of the Roadhouse. Victor and Benny can’t keep ahold of the two Hellhounds they’ve been restraining, and the Hellhounds run out with the rest of the crowd. Jo looks up at Ellen, her blue eyes wide and afraid.  
  
Ellen is watching her daughter like she’s never seen her before. Ash swallows hard several times, shakes his head, and runs from the room. They can hear him vomiting in the kitchen. Jo starts shaking, unable to believe what she’s just done. Victor moves past her to check Dean and Castiel’s pulse. Benny watches in disbelief.  
  
“Victor, are they still-”  
  
“No. They’re gone.”

  


\--------------------------

  


_Castiel. Castiel, Castiel, Castiel._  
  
The name echoes loudly in Dean’s head. He stares at the stranger and the stranger stares at him. The man with blue eyes doesn’t bother to pick up the papers he’s dropped. He steps into the shadows of the old bar with a fascinated look on his face. The closer he gets to Dean, the louder the name in his head bounces around. Dean takes a step back. The stranger tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. His voice is deep and gravelly.  
  
“How did you find this place?”  
  
“Uh… I drove here. I… I don’t really know.”  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“I could ask you the same thing.”  
  
The stranger pauses like he hadn’t thought of this. “Castiel. My name is Castiel.”  
  
Dean’s legs feel like jelly. He tears his eyes away from Castiel and looks to the empty area on the floor, where the wood is stained black. His throat tightens. “What is this place?”  
  
“Harvelle’s Roadhouse. It was a speakeasy back during prohibition. I’ve been researching it.”  
  
Dean’s head swims. He places his hand on a table to steady himself. “What do you know about it?”  
  
“Well,” Castiel says, following Dean’s gaze to the dark floor. “It was run by a woman named Ellen Harvelle. The locals used to call her employees ‘strays’, saying that she picked them up off the street and gave them a home. Supposedly, two of her strays died here in the main room.”  
  
Dean can feel his heart pick up pace again. Is he dying? He must be dying. This is too strange. “When?”  
  
“September eighteenth. In 1928, I believe.”  
  
Dean nods. He looks back at Castiel, watches as he raises his blue eyes to meet Dean’s green ones. “It was Cas, right?”  
  
“Castiel, but… yes, I suppose. How did you-?”  
  
“What day is it?”  
  
“Thursday.”  
  
“No, I- what’s the date?”  
  
“September eighteenth. 2008.”  
  
Outside, the birds have resumed their singing. Castiel’s papers are still scattered in the doorway where he dropped them. Sunlight drifting through the rafters draws Dean’s eyes to them. He clenches his jaw, recalling the feeling he’d had as Castiel walked through the door. Finally, he gives up on trying to keep his sanity.  
  
“Did you feel it, too?”  
  
Castiel looks behind him to the papers. He seems like he can’t decide what to say. Then- “Yes. I… I have been drawn to this place for quite a while now. I thought researching it would help, but I’ve only gotten more and more restless, until…” He trails off. With a frown, he looks to Dean. “Until you.”  
  
Dean’s eyes are drawn to the way Castiel’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Castiel’s lips are dry, and his eyes are tired, and he looks just so slightly afraid. It’s all so familiar, and it’s infuriating.  
  
“I must be insane,” Dean says, and crosses the bar.  
  
Castiel takes a step back as Dean nears him, but Dean simply reaches forward to cup Castiel’s face in his hands. He presses their lips together. The whole world locks into place. Castiel sighs lightly as Dean pulls back, his heart threatening to break out of his chest. Dean stares until Castiel’s eyes flutter open and a slow smile crosses his face.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
Once upon a time, there were two men.

  



End file.
